WHEN WE TWO PARTED. WHEN We two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; 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, Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell. In secret we met In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? With silence and tears. TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 1 Frw years have pass'd since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most If so, it never shall be mine To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art. As rolls the ocean's changing tide, Where stormy passions ever glow? 1808. [This copy of verses, and that which follows, originally appeared in the volume published, in 1809, by Mr. (now the Right Hon. Sir John) Hobhouse, under the title of Imita It boots not that, together bred, Not so in Man's maturer years, When Man himself is but a tool; When interest sways our hopes and fears, And all must love and hate by rule. With fools in kindred vice the same, We learn at length our faults to blend; And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend. Such is the common lot of man: Can we then 'scape from folly free? Can we reverse the general plan, Nor be what all in turn must be? No; for myself, so dark my fate Through every turn of life hath been; But thou, with spirit frail and light, Alas! whenever 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 trifling heart is glad To join the vain, and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair to 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? For friendship every fool may share? Be something, anything, but-mean. 1808. tions and Translations, together with original poems," and bearing the modest epigraph-"Nos hec novimus case hil."] LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL.1 44 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, Quaff while thou canst; another race, Why not? since through life's little day Newstead Abbey, 1808. WELL! THOU ART HAPPY. 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 '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; I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs, [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. In several of our elder dramatists, mention is made of the custom of quaffing wine out of similar cups. For example, in Dekker's "Wonder of a Kingdom," Torrenti says,— "Would I had ten thousand soldiers' heads, Their skulls set all in silver; to drink healths To his confusion who first invented war."] [These lines were printed originally in Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany. A few days before they were written, the Poet had been invited to dine at Annesley. On the infant daughter of his fair hostess being brought into the room, he started involuntarily, and with the utmost difficulty suppressed his emotion. To the sensations of that moment we are indebted for these beautiful stanzas.] 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 My heart in all, - —save hope,—the same. Yet was I calm: I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy lock; I saw thee gaze upon my face, Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? November 2, 1808. INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A WHEN 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 Courage without Ferocity, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1868.” 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 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." By the will executed in 1811, he directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog.] Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Newstead Abbey, November 30, 1808. TO A LADY,1 ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND WHEN Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers, But, wandering on through distant climes, 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. 3 December 2, 1808. 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 ? 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 giance so sweet, And still we near and nearer prest, And still our glowing lips would meet, [In the original MS. "To Mrs. Musters," &c. The reader will find a portrait of this lady in Finden's Illustrations of Byron, No. III.] 2 [In the first copy," Thus, Mary!"] [In Mr. Hobhouse's volume, the line stood," Without a wish to enter there." The following is an extract from an unpublished letter of Lord Byron, written in 1823, only 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, Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow. 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, 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. As still my soul hath been to thee. None, none hath sunk so deep as this- And yet my heart some solace knew, Yes; my adored, yet most unkind! Remembrance of that love remain. AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? I would not give that bosom pain. marriage was not a happier one than my own. Her conduct, however, was irreproachable; but there was not sympathy between their characters. I had not seen her for years, when an occasion offered. I was upon the point, with her consent, of paying her a visit, when my sister, who has always had more influence over me than any one else, per suaded me not to do it. For,' said she, if you go you wi fall in love again, and then there will be a scene; one step will lead to another, et cela fera un éclat.' I was guided be those reasons, and shortly after married,—with what success it is useless to say."] 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, methinks, 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. Oh lady! blessed be that tear It falls for one who cannot weep; To those whose eyes no tear may steep. Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. A SONG. FILL the goblet again! for I never before Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core; 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? [The melancholy which was now gaining fast upon the 4 young poet's mind was a source of much uneasiness to his friends. It was at this period, that the following pleasant verses were addressed to him by Mr. Hobhouse : Some hours of freedom may remain as yet And ever fond, or ever angry wife! Shall these no more confess a manly sway, Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day, When you beneath the female yoke shall bend, In his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's volume, now before us, Lord Byron has here written with a pencil,-"I have lost them all, and shall wED accordingly. 1811. B."] STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING ENGLAND. "Tis done and shivering in the gale But could I be what I have been, Which once my warmest wishes blest- 'Tis long since I beheld that eye As some lone bird, without a mate, And I will cross the whitening foam, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; I go but wheresoe'er I. flee There's not an eye will weep for me; To think of every early scene, Of what we are, and what we've been, And never truly loves but one. And who that dear loved one may be Is not for vulgar eyes to see, I've tried another's fetters too, [In the original, "To Mrs. Musters."] 2 [Thus corrected by himself, in his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany; the two last lines being originally. |