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But thou, with spirit frail and light,

Wilt shine a while, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,

But dare not stand the lest of day.
Alas! wherever Folly calls,

Where parasites and princes meet (For, cherish'd first in royal halls,

The welcome vices kindly greet), Ev'n now thou 'rt nightly seen to add

One insect to the fluttering crowd; And still thy triling heart is glad

To join the vain, and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair 10 fair,

Still simpering on with eager haste; As flies along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say, what nymph will prize the flame

Which seems, as marshy vapours move,
To flit along, from dame to dame,

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?
What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,

Will deign to own a kindred care ?
Who will debase his manly mind,

For friendship every fool may share ? In time forbear; amidst the throng

No more so base a thing be seen; No more so idly pass along:

Be something, any thing, but-mean.

Belter to hold the sparkling grape,

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood; And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of gods, than reptiles' food.
Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,

In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,

What nobler substitute than wine ?
Quaff while thou canst: another race,

When thou and thine, like me, are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,

And rhyme and revel with the dead.
Why no-since through life's little day

Our heads such sad effects produce?
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808.

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.(2)

1808.

Well! thou art happy,(3) and I feel

That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal

Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's blest—and 't will impart

Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass-Oh! how my heart

Would hate him, if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,

I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it,-and repress'd my sighs

Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,

And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou art blest I'll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride

Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED

FROM A SKULL. (1)

Start not-nor deem my spirit fled :

In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,

Whatever flows is never dull.
I lived, I loved, I quaffd, like thee;

I died : let earth my bones resign:
Fill up-thou canst not injure me;

The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

(1) Lord Byron gives the following account of this cup,- grand beraldic title. A set of black growns, mine distinguished "The gardener, in digging, discovered a skull that had pro- from the rest, was ordered, and, from time to time, when a par. bably belonged to some jolly friar or monk of the abbey, about ticularly hard day was expected, a chapler was held, the crane the lime it was demonasteried. Observing it to be of giant size, was filled with claret, and, in imitation of the Goths of old, passed and in a perfect stale of preservation, a strange fancy seized | about lo the Gods of the Consistory, whilst many a grim joke was me of having it set and mounted as a drinking-cup. I accord-cut at its expense." Captain Medwin.-E. ingly sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish, (2) These lines were printed originally in Mr. Hobhouse's and of a moulled colour like tortoiseshell.” It is now in the Miscellany. A few days before they were written, the poet had possession of Colonel Wildman, the proprietor of Nowslead been invited to dine at Annesley. On the infant daughter of Abbey.-E.

his fair hostess being brought into the room, he started invoMoore states that among the ornaments of Byron's study were luntarily, and with the utmost dislicully suppressed his emotion. a number of skulls, highly polished, and placed on light stands to the sensations of that moment we are indebled for these round the room. He also established, al Newstead Abbey, a beautiful stanzas—and for several of the following pieces.-E. new order. “The members,” says he, consisted of twelve, (3) The lady's marriage, however, proved an unhappy one.-E. and I elected myself Grand Master, or Abbol of the Skull: a

Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all, -save hope, the same. Yet was I calm : I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime-

We met,-and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face,

Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling couldst thou trace;

The sullen calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream ? My foolish heart! be still, or break.

November 2, 1808. (1)

O man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for sbame,
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn":
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ;
I never knew but one,--and here he lies. (3)

IN CRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A

NEWFOUNDAAND DOG.(2)

When some proud son of man returns to earth,
l'nknown to glory, but upheld by birthi,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, lout what he should have been :
But the poor dog, in life the firmnest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, lights, lives. breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'il falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on rarth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

TO A LADY,
ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING

ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.
When man, expellid from Eden's bowers

A moment linger'il near the gate,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,

And bade him curse his future fate.
But, wandering on through distant climes,

He learn'd lo bear his load of grief;
Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes relief.
Thus, lady!(4) will it be with me,

And I must' view thy charms no more;
For, while I linger near to thee,

I sigh for all I knew hefore,
In flight I shall be surely wise,

Escaping from temptation's snare;
I cannot view my paradise
Without the wish of dwelling there. (5)

December 2, 1808

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(1) Lord Byron wrote to his mother on this same 2nd No- and a fox-terrier called Gilpin, belonging to Mrs. Byron, that lady vember, announcing his intention of sailing for India in March, prudently sent her favourite out of the way of his more powerful 1809.-E.

antagonist. One morning the servant, 10 whose guardianship (2. This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the Boatswain was confided, was much alarmed by the disappearance gardea of Newslead. The following is the inscription by which of his charge, and throughout the whole of the day no tidings the verses are preceded:

could be heard of him. "At last, lowards evening, the stray " Near this spot

dog arrived, accompanied by Gilpin, whom he lid immediately Are deposited the Remains of one

to the kitchen fire, licking him, and lavishing upon him every Who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence,

possible demonstration of joy. The fact was, he had been all Courage without Ferucily,

the way to Vewstead to fetch him, and having nos established And all the Virtues of Man without his Vicer.

bis former soe under the roof once more, agreed so periectly This Praise, which would be uameauing Flallery

well with him ever after, that he even protected him against the Il inscribed over hu.nan ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of

insults of other dogs,-a lask which the quarrelsomeness of the BOTSWAIN, a Dog.

lille terrier rendered no sinecure." I ho fas born in Newfonndland. May, 1803 ,

(3) In Mr. Hobbouse's Miscellany, in which the epitaph ** And died at Nenstead Abbey, Nov. 13, 1808.

first published, that last line ran thus:Lord Byron thus aonounced the death of his favourite 10 Mr. “I knew but one unchanged and here he lies." Hodgson :-"Boatswain is dead :-hie expired in a state of mad. The reader will not fail to observe that this inscription was ness, on the 13th, after suffering much, yel retaining all the written at a time when the poet's early feelings with respect to gentleness of his nature to the last; never attempting to do the the lady of Annesley had been painfully revived.-E. least injury 10 any one near him. I have now lost every thing (4) In the first copy, "Thus, Mary!”- Mrs. Musters. except old Murray." By the will, which he executed in 1811, (5) In Mr. Hobhouse's volume, ihe line slood, -"Without a he directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in the wish to enter there.” The following is an extract from an un garden, near his faithful dog.-E.

published letter of Lord Byron, written in 1825, only three days “Of this favourite," says Moore, "some traits are told indicative previous to his leaving Italy for Greece :-"Miss Chaworth *** not only of intelligence, but of a generosity of spirit which might | iwo years older than myself. She married a man of an arcerati well win for him the affections of such a master as Byron." Il and respectable family, but her marriage was not a happier aber seems that a deadly feud having long existed between Boatswain than my own. Wer conduct, however, was irreproach ble; but

REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.

REMIND me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours

When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,

And thou and I shall cease to be.

None, none hath sunk so deep as this

To think how all that love hath flown; Transient as every faithless kiss,

But transient in thy breast alone. And yet my heart some solace knew,

When late I heard thy lips declare, In accents once imagined true,

Remembrance of the days that were. Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!

Though thou wilt never love again, To me 't is doubly sweet to find

Remembrance of that love remain. Yet! 't is a glorious thought to me,

Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,

Thou hast been dearly, solely, mine.

1

Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move?
Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.
When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,

As half reproach'd yet raised desire,
And still we near and nearer press’d,
And still our glowing lips would meet,

As if in kisses to expire.
And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,

Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,

Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.
I dream'd last night our love return’d,
And, sooth to say, that very dream

Was sweeter in its fantasy
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam

In rapture's wild reality.
Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone,

Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless as the mouldering stone

Which tells that we shall be no more.

AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW. AND wilt thou weep when I am low?

Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so

I would not give that bosom pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,

My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone

Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methịnks, a gleam of peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine; And for awhile my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine. O lady! blessed be that tear

It falls for one who cannot weep: Such precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
Sweet lady! once my heart was warm

With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm

A wretch, created to repine.
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low ?

Sweet lady! speak those words again;
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so,

I would not give that bosom pain.(1)

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.

THERE was a time, I need not name,

Since it will ne'er forgotten be, When all our feelings were the same

As still my soul hath been to thee. And from that hour, when first thy tongue

Confess'd a love which equallid mine, Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,

Unknown and thus unfelt by thine,

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN.(2)

A SONG.

Fill the goblet again! for I never before [core: Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its

there was not sympathy between their characters. I had not step will lead to another, et cela fera un éclat.' I was guided
seen her for many years, when an occasion offered. I was upon by those reasons, and shortly after married, - will wbat success
the point, with her consent, of paying ber a visit; when my it is useless to say.”-E.
sister, who has always had more influence over me than any one (1) The melancholy which was now gaining fast upop the young
else, persuaded me not to do it. For,' said she, • if you go, poet's mind was a source of uneasiness 10 his friends.-B.
you will fall in love again, and then there will be a scene: one (2) Composed at Pisa, after one of Lord Byron's dinners.-E

Let us drink who would not ? since, through

life's varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found. I have tried, in its turn, all that life can supply; I have bask'd in the beam of a dark-rolling eye; I have loved! who has not ?—but what heart can

declare That pleasure existed while passion was there? In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its

spring, And dreams that affection can never take wing, I had friends !-who has not ?—but what tongue

will avow, That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never

canst change : Thou grow'st old-who does not ?-but on earth

what appears, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its

years? Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Should a rival bow down to our idol below, (alloy; We are jealous !-who's not ?—thou hast no such For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy Then the season of youth and its vanities past, For refuge we fly to the goblet at last; There we find-do we not ?-in the flow of the soul, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. When the box of Pandora was opend on earth, And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth, Hope was left,-was she not?—but the goblet we

kiss, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life lo the grape! for when summer is flown, The age of our nectar shall gladden our own: We must die—who shall not ?- May our sins be

forgiven, And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.

I should not seek another zone
Because I cannot love but one.
'T is long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again :
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.
As some lone bird, without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate;
I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face,
And even in crowds am still alone,
Because I cannot love but one.
And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false fair face,
I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one.
The poorest veriest wretch on earth
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
Where friendship’s or love's softer glow
May smile in joy or soothe in woe;
But friend or leman I have none,
Because I cannot love but one.
I go-but wheresoe'er I flee,
There's not an eye will weep for me;
There's not a kind congenial heart,
Where I can claim the meanest part;
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
Wilt sigh, although I love but one.
To think of every early scene,
Of what we are, and what we've been,
Would whelm some softer hearts with woe-
But mine, alas ! has stood the blow;
Yet still beats on as it begun,
And never truly loves but one.
And who that dear loved one may be
Is not for vulgar eyes to see,
And why that early love was cross'd,
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most;
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one.
I've tried another's fetters too,
With charms perchance as fair to view;
And I would fain have loved as well,
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for aught but one.
'T would soothe to take one lingering view,
And bless thee in iny last adieu;
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For bim that wanders o'er the deep;

STANZAS TO A LADY, (1) ON LEAVING

ENGLAND. 'Tis done-and shivering in the gale, The bark unfurls her snowy sail; And, whistling o'er the bending mast, Loud sings on high the freshening blast; And I must from this land be gone, Because I cannot love but one. But could I be what I have been, And could I see what I have seen Could I repose upon the breast Which once my warmest wishes blest

(1) Mrs. Musters.

His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
Yet still he loves, and loves but one.(1)

1809.

LINES TO MR. HODGSON.

WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET.

Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,

Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing

Bend the canvass o'er the mast. From aloft the signal's streaming,

Hark! the farewell gun is fired; Women screeching, tars blaspheming, Tell us that our time's expired.

Here's a rascal

Come to task all,
Prying from the custom-house;

Trunks unpacking,

Cases cracking;
Not a corner for a mouse
'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.
Now our boatmen quit their mooring,

And all hands must ply the oar;
Baggage from the quay is lowering,

We're impatient-push from shore. “ Have a care! that case holds liquor

Stop the boat--I'm sick-oh Lord!” “Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker Ere you've been an hour on board."

Thus are screaming

Men and women,
Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;

Here entangling,

All are wrangling, Stuck together close as wax.Such the general noise and racket, Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet. Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain,

Gallant Kidd,(2) commands the crew; Passengers their berths are clapt in,

Some to grumble, some to spew.

“Heyday! call you that a cabin ?

Why't is hardly three feet square; Not enough to slow Queen Mab nWho the deuce can harbour there?"

“Who, sir ? plenty

Nobles twenty
Did at once my vessel fill.”.

“Did they? Jesus,

How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still: Then I'd scape the heat and racket Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.” Fletcher ! Murray! Bob !(3) where are you?

Stretch'd along the deck like logs Bear a hand, you jollý tar, you!

Here's a rope's-end for the dogs.
Hobhouse, muttering fearful curses

As the hatchway down he rolls,
Now his breakfast, now his verses,
Vomits forth-and damns our souls.

“Here's a stanza

On Braganza-
Help!”_"A couplet ?”—“No, a cup

Of warm water

"What's the matter?” “Zounds! my liver 's coming up; 'I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.” Now at length we're off for Turkey,

Lord knows when we shall come back! Breezes foul and tempest murky

May unship us in a crack.
But, since life at most a jest is,

As philosophers allow,
Still to laugh by far the best is,
Then laugh on-as I do now.

Laugh at all things,

Great and small things,
Sick or well, at sea or shore;

While we're quaffing,

Let's have laughingWho the devil cares for more? Some good wine! and who would lack it, Even on board the Lisbon Packet!(4)

Falmouth Roads, June 30, 1809.

!1) Thus corrected by bimself, in his mother's copy of Mr. the figure lying across in the same position. To add to the Hobhouse's Miscellany; tbe lwo last lines being originally- wonder, on putting his hand forth to touch this form, he found “ Though wheresoc'er my bark may run,

The uniform, in which it appeared to be dressed, dripping wel. I love but thee, I love but one."-E.

On the entrance of one of his brother officers, to whom he called (2) The following marvellous story was related by Captain out in alarm, the apparition vanished; but in a few months after Kidd to his Lordship on the passage. He staled that “ being he received the startling intelligence that, on that night, his asleep one night in bis berth, he was awakened by the pressure brother had been drowned in the Indian seas.

or the supernaof something heavy on bis limbs, and there being a faint light lural character of this appearance, Captain Kidd himsell did in the room, could see, as he thought, distinctly, the figure or not appear to have the slightest doubt."-E. his brother, who was at that time in the naval service in the Eas! (3) Lord Byron's three servants -E. Indies, dressed in his uniform and stretched across the bed. (4) In the letter in wbich these lively verses were inclosed, Concluding it to be an illusion of the senses, he shut his eyes and Lord Byron says:-"I leave England without regret-1 sball made ao esort to sleep. But still the same pressure continued, return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict and still, as often as be ventured to take another look, he saw sentenced to transportation; but I have no Eve, and have ealen

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