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To sever for years,
Colder thy kiss;
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow — It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken.
And light Is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
Why wert thou so dear?
Who knew thee too well: — Long, long shall I rue thee.
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met—
In silence I grieve.
Thy spirit deceive.
After long years,
With silence and tears.
TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND.'
Fxw yean have pass'd since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
Preserved our feelings long the same.
But now, like me, too well thou know'st
What trifles oft the heart recall;
And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign,
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart;
As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ehb and flow;
'[This copy of verses, and that which follows, originally appeared in ine volume published, in 1H09, hy Mr. (now the Right Hon. Sir John) HobhouK, under the title of" lmita
Slaves to the specious world's control.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind
When thought ere spoke is unconfined.
Not so in Man's maturer years.
When interest sways our hopes and fears
Writh fools in kindred vice the same.
And those, and those alone, may claim
Such is the common lot of man:
Can we reverse the general plan.
No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been j
Man and the world so much I hate,
But thou, with spirit frail and light.
As glow-worms sparkle through the night.
Alas! whenever folly calls
Where parasites and princes meet,
(For chcrish'd first in royal halls,
Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add
And still thy trifling heart is glad
To join the vain, and court the proud.
There dost thou glide from fair to fair.
As flics along the gay parterre.
That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.
But say, what nymph will prize the flame
To flit along from dame to dame.
What friend for thee, howe'er Inclined,
Who will debase his manly mind.
In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so Idly pass along;
Be something, anything, but — r
tlons and Translations, together with original Iieartng Che modest epigraph —" Sos k*c
WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.:
Well I thou art happy, and I feel
For still my heart regards thy weal
Thy husband's blest—and 'twill impart
But let them pass — Oh! how my heart
When late I saw thy favourite child,
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it,—and repress'd my sighs,
■[Lord Byron gives the following account of this cup: — "The gardener, in digging, discovered a ikull that had probably belonged to somo jolly friar or monk of the abbey, *toot the time it was demonasteriod. Observing it to be of Pint size, and in a perfect state of preservation, a strange farr seized me of having it set and mounted as a drinking caa. 1 accordingly tent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish, and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshcll." H U Dow In the possession of Colonel Wildman, the proprietor of Newstead Abbey. In several of our elder dramatists, mention is made of the custom or quaffing wine out of similar cups. For example, in Dckker's " Wonder of a Kbrdom," Torrenti says, —
"Would I had ten thousand soldiers' heads,
1 tThese lines were printed originally in Mr. Hobhouac's Vlsorllany. A few days before they were written, the Poet Sad hem Invited to dine at Annesley. On the infant daughter
of his fair hostess being brought into the room, he started "! utmost difficulty suppressed his l of that moment we are indebted
But then it had its mother's eyes,
Mary, adieu 1 I must away:
While thou art blest I '11 not repine;
But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I dcem'd that pride
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 lock;
But now to tremble were a crime —
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there:
One only feeling couldst thou trace;
Away! away! my early dream
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A
Whin some proud son of man returns to earth,
3 This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the inscription by which the verses are preceded : —
"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 Vires. 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, 18C8." Lord Byron thus announced the death of his favourite to his friend Hodgson: — "Boatswain is dead !— he expired in a state of madness, on the lHth, after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last; never attempting to do tile least Injury to any one near him. 1 have now lost everything, except old Murray." By the will executed in 1H11, he directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog.]
TO A LADV.i
OK BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING EXCLAND
When Man. expell'd from Eden's bowers,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,
But, wandering on through distant climes,
Just Rave a sigh to other times,
Thus, lady 2 ! will It be with me,
And I must view thy charms no more;
For, while I linger near to thee,
In flight I shall be surely wise.
I cannot view my paradise
Without the wish of dwelling there.'
December 2, 1806.
REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.
Remind me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours.
Till time unnerves our vital powers.
Can I forget—canst thou forget.
How quick thy fluttering heart did move?
When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw l>ack a glance so sweet,
1 [ In the original MS. "To Mrs. Morten," *c. The reader will find a portrait of this Udy in Flnuen's Illustration! of Byron, No. III.]
• [In the flrrt copy, '• Thus, Mary I"]
* [In Mr. Hobhouse'l volume, the line stood, —" Without a wish to enter there." The following li an extract from an unpublished letter of Lord Myron, written in 1833, iililv three days previous to his leaving Italy for Greece: — "Miss Chaworth was two years older than myself. She married a man of an ancient and respectable family, but her
And then those pensive eyes would close.
I dreamt last night our love return'd.
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
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.
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 front that hour when first thy tongue
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung.
None, none hath sunk so deep as this—
Transient as every faithless kiss.
And yet my heart some solace knew.
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.
Yes! 't is a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'cr thou art or e'er shalt be.
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
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.
marriage was not a happier nne than my own. Her rorahsct. however, was irreproachable; but there was not sympathy between their characters. I had not seen her lor mjar vears, when on occasion offered. I was upon the pome, wfenS tier consent, of paying her a visit, when my sister, wno has Always had more influence over me than any one rUe. persuaded me not to do It. * For.' said she. • it you go ywa vU fall in love again, and then there will be a scene . one sen will lead to another, et cfta/rra Sot eclat.' I was ■ n'all,1 br those reasons, and shortly alter married,—wan vrbsc tumi It Is useless to say-")
My heart is sad, ray hopes are gone,
And when I perish, thou alone
And yet, methlnks, a gleam of peace
And for awhile my sorrows cease,
Oh lady! blessed be that tear—
Such precious drops are doubly dear
Sweet lady I once my heart was warm
But beauty's self hath ceaseil to charm
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again: Tet if they grieve thee, say not so —
1 would not give that bosom pain.1
FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN.
Fill the goblet again! for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to Its core;
Let us drink I—who would not ?—since, through
life's varied round,
I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;
That pleasure existed while passion was there?
1 [The melancholy which was now gaining fast upon the JtMig poet's mind was a source of much uneasiness to his friends. It was at this period, that the following pleasant 'fries were addressed to him by Mr. Ilobhouse: —
TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE.
Hail! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame
But as your blood with dangerous passion boils,
But if'tis fix'd that every lord must pair, And you and Newstead must not want an heir. Lose not your pains, and scour the country round, To find a treasurcthat can ne'er be found! No! take the first the town or court affords, • Trick'd out to stock a market for the lords; By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall On one, though wicked, not the worst of all: * • • • •
One though perhaps as any Maxwell free,
Yet scarce a copy, Claribel, of thee:
Not very ugly, and not very old,
A little pert indeed, but not a scold;
One that, in short, may help to lead a life
Not farther much from comfort than from strife;
And when she dies, and disappoints your fears.
Shall leave some joys for your declining years.
Bat, as your early youth some time allows. Nor custom yet demands you for a spouse.
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! arc 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,
Jor the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.
Then the season of youth and its vanities past,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.
When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.
Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown,
And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.
Some hours of freedom may remain as yet
For one who laughs alike at love and debt;
Then, why in haste ? nut off the evil day.
And snatcli at youthful comforts whilst you may!
Pause! nor so soon the various bliss forego
That single souls, and such alone, can know:
Ah ! why too early careless life resign,
Your morning slumber, and your evening wine;
Your loved companion, and ills easy talk:
Your Muse, invoked in every peaceful walk.
What I can no more your scenes paternal please.
Scenes sacred long to wise, unniated ease?
The prospect lengthen'd o'er the distant down,
Lakes, meadows, rising woods, and all your own?
What! shall your New stead, shall your clolstcr'd bowers,
The high o'er-hanging arch and trembling towers f
Shall these, profaned with folly or with strife,
And ever fond, or ever angry wife!
Shall these no more confess a manly sway,
Rut changeful woman's changing whims obey?
Who may, perhaps, as varying humour calls,
Contract your cloisters and o erthrow your walls;
Let Repton loose o'er all the ancient ground.
Change round to square, and square convert to round;
Root up the elms' and yews' too solemn gloom.
And fill with shrubberies gay and green their room;
Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre,
Wimtc gravel'd walks and flowers alternate glare;
And quite transform, In ev'ry point complete,
Your gothic abbey to a country seat.
Forget the fair one. and your f-ite delay;
Trin. Coll. Camb. 1S03.
In his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's volume, now before us, Lord Byron has here written with a pencil,—"/ have lott Vtein all, and shall Wkd accordingly. 1811. B."]
STANZAS TO A LADY ', ON LEAVING
'T is clone — and shivering in the gale
Hut could I be what I have been,
'Tis long since I beheld that eye
As some lone bird, without a mate,
And I will cross the whitening foam,
The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
I go—but wheresoe'er I flee
To think of every early scene,
Of what we arc, and what we 'vc 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
I've tried another's fetters too,
With charms perchance as fair to view;
1 [In the original," To Mrs. Musters."]
* [Thus corrected by himself, In his mother'B copy of Mr. Ilobhousu's Miscellany; the two last lines being original)}- —
And I would fain have loved as well.
'T would soothe to take one lingering
LINES TO MR. HODGSON.
waiTTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKXT.
Hl-zza! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargo's off at last;
Bend the canvass o'er the mast.
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 I that case holds liquor —
Stop the boat—I'm sick—oh Lord !** "Sick, ma'am, damme, you H be sicker, Ere you've been an hour on board." Thus are screaming Men and women, Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks; Here entangling, AU are wrangling,
Stuck together close as wax
Such the general nois^ and racket,
Now we've reach'd her, lo ! the captain,
Gallant Kidd, commands the crew;
Why 'tis hardly three feet square: