Page images
PDF
EPUB

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.

1808.

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM

A SKULL,9

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 quaff'd, like thee:
I died let earth my bones resign;
Fill up thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better 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 reptile's 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.

9 [Lord Byron gives the following account of this cup :- "The gardener in digging discovered a skull that had probably belonged to some jolly friar or monk of the abbey, about the time it was demonasteried. Observing it to be of giant size, and in a perfect state of preservation, a strange fancy seized me of having it set and mounted as a drinking cup. I accordingly sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish, and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshell." It is now in the possession of Colonel Wildman, the proprietor of Newstead Abbey.]

VOL. II.

U

Why not? 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.1

WELL! thou art happy, 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 'twill 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;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all,-save hope,-the same.

[A few days before this poem was written, the poet dined at Annesley. On the infant daughter of his hostess being brought into the room, it was with the utmost difficulty that he suppressed the emotion to which we owe these beautiful stanzas.]

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. 2

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEW-
FOUNDLAND DOG.3

WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,

The sculptor's heart exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rest below:

2 [Lord Byron wrote to his mother on this same 2nd November, announcing his intention of sailing for India in March, 1809.]

3 [This monument is a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. A prose inscription precedes the verses :

"Near this spot

Are deposited the Remains of one

Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,

Strength without Insolence,

Courage without Ferocity,

And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,

Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a Dog,

Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808."

Lord Byron thus announced the death of his favourite to Mr. Hodgson :- "Boatswain is dead!-he expired in a state of madness on the 18th after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last; never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. I have now lost everything except old Murray." In the will which Lord Byron executed in 1811, he desired to be buried in a vault near his dog, and Joe Murray was to have the honour of making one of the party. When the

When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been :
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh 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 shame.
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.*

Newstead Abbey, November 30, 1808.

TO A LADY,

ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.

WHEN Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate,

Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,

And bade him curse his future fate.

poet was on his travels, a gentleman, to whom Murray showed the tomb, said, "Well, old boy, you will take your place here some twenty years hence." "I don't know that, sir," replied Joe, "if I was sure his lordship would come here I should like it well enough, but I should not like to lie alone with the dog."]

4 [In Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany the last line runs thus :

"I knew but one unchanged-and here he lies."

The morbid tone which pervades these very powerful lines was due in part to the sense of desolation produced by his recent visit to Annesley.]

But, wandering on through distant climes,
He learnt to bear his load of grief;
Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes relief.

Thus, lady!' 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 before.

In flight I shall be surely wise,

Escaping from temptation's snare;

I cannot view my paradise

Without the wish of dwelling there.

6

December, 2, 1808.

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.

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.

5 [In the first copy,

66

Thus, Mary!"-(Mrs. Musters.)]

6 [In Mr. Hobhouse's volume the line stood,

"Without a wish to enter there."

A little before his engagement to Miss Milbanke, Lord Byron had an opportunity, with her own consent, of paying a visit to his early love. His sister, who knew that this last stanza was as true as ever, prevailed upon him to resign the pleasure. "For," said she, "if you go you will fall in love again, and then there will be a scene; one step will lead to another, et cela fera un éclat."]

« PreviousContinue »