In another of these poems, which extends to about a hundred lines, and which he wrote under the melancholy impression that he should soon die, we find him concluding with a prayer in somewhat the same spirit.  After bidding adieu to all the favourite scenes of his youth,[68] he thus continues,—­

    “Forget this world, my restless sprite,
      Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heav’n: 
    There must thou soon direct thy night,
      If errors are forgiven. 
    To bigots and to sects unknown. 
    Bow down beneath the Almighty’s throne;—­
      To him address thy trembling prayer;
    He, who is merciful and just,
    Will not reject a child of dust,
      Although his meanest care. 
    Father of Light, to thee I call,
      My soul is dark within;
    Thou, who canst mark the sparrow fall,
      Avert the death of sin. 
    Thou, who canst guide the wandering star,
    Who calm’st the elemental war,
      Whose mantle is yon boundless sky,
    My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive;
    And, since I soon must cease to live,
      Instruct me how to die.

     1807.”

We have seen, by a former letter, that the law proceedings for the recovery of his Rochdale property had been attended with success in some trial of the case at Lancaster.  The following note to one of his Southwell friends, announcing a second triumph of the cause, shows how sanguinely and, as it turned out, erroneously, he calculated on the results.

“Feb. 9. 1807.

Dear ——­,

“I have the pleasure to inform you we have gained the Rochdale cause a second time, by which I am, L60,000 plus.  Yours ever,

“BYRON.”

In the month of April we find him still at Southwell, and addressing to his friend, Dr. Pigot, who was at Edinburgh, the following note[69]:—­

“Southwell, April, 1807.

“My dear Pigot,

“Allow me to congratulate you on the success of your first examination—­’Courage, mon ami.’  The title of Doctor will do wonders with the damsels.  I shall most probably be in Essex or London when you arrive at this d——­d place, where I am detained by the publication of my rhymes.

“Adieu.—­Believe me yours very truly,

“BYRON.

“P.S.  Since we met, I have reduced myself by violent exercise, much physic, and hot bathing, from 14 stone 6 lb. to 12 stone 7 lb.  In all I have lost 27 pounds.  Bravo!—­what say you?”

His movements and occupations for the remainder of this year will be best collected from a series of his own letters, which I am enabled, by the kindness of the lady to whom they were addressed, to give.  Though these letters are boyishly[70] written, and a good deal of their pleasantry is of that conventional kind which depends more upon phrase than thought, they will yet, I think, be found curious and interesting, not only as enabling us to track him through this period of his life, but as throwing light upon various little traits of character, and laying open to us the first working of his hopes and fears while waiting, in suspense, the opinions that were to decide, as he thought, his future fame.  The first of the series, which is without date, appears to have been written before he had left Southwell.  The other letters, it will be seen, are dated from Cambridge and from London.