TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. FEW 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. And such the change the heart displays, If so, it never shall be mine To mourn the loss of such a heart; [1808.] [1808.] The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, It boots not that, together bred, Ay, joyous season! when the mind 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 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 There dost thou glide from fair to fair, That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say, what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapors move, To flit along from dame to dame, An ignis-fatuus gleam of love? What friend for thee, howe'er inclined, Be something, anything, but-mean. LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP START not-nor deem my spirit fled; I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee: 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, WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.† WELL! thou art happy, and I feel That I should thus be happy too; Thy husband's blest-and 't will impart When late I saw thy favorite child, I thought my jealous heart would break; I kiss'd it,—and repress'd my sighs, 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. *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 color like tortoise-shell." A few days before these lines were written, the poet had been invited to dine at Annesley. On the infant daughter of Mrs. Musters (formerly Miss Chaworth) 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. This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the inscription by which the verses are preceded: 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. Yet was I calm: I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look: But now to tremble were a crimeWe 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, 1806.] INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.‡ woe, WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. 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, "Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Strength without Insolence, And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, 8 In the original MS. “To Mrs. Musters," 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, bui Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours, But, wandering on through distant climes, 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, Without the wish of dwelling there. 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, As half reproach'd yet raised desire, And still our glowing lips would meet, And then those pensive eyes would close, I dreamt last night our love return'd, Then tell me not, remind me not, Of hours which, though for ever gone, THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT THERE was a time, I need not name, her 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 many 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, And from that hour when first thy tongue Confess'd a love which equall'd mine, Though many a grief my heart hath wrung, Unknown and thus unfelt by thine, 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, Yes; my adored, yet most unkind! Yes! 't is a glorious thought to me, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine. AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AN AND wilt thou weep when I am low? I would not give that bosom pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace To know thy heart hath felt for mine. Oh, lady! blessed be that tear It falls for one who cannot weep; Sweet lady! once my heart was warm Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not soI would not give that bosom pain. FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. FILL the goblet again! for I never before core; Let us drink!-who would not ?—since, through life's varied round, In the goblet alone no déception is found. persuaded me not to do it. 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. I was guided by those reasons, and shortly after married,-with what suc cess it is useless to say." A portrait of this lady may be see ante, in the Life of the Poet. I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; 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, We are jealous!-who's not ?-thou hast no such alloy; For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. Then, the season of youth and its vanities past, There we find do we not ?-in the flow of the soul, 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. STANZAS TO A LADY* ON LEAVING '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; The poorest, veriest wretch on earth I go-but wheresoe'er I flee, To think of every early scene, Of what we are, and what we 've been, And who that dear loved one may be Is not for vulgar eyes to see, I've tried another's fetters too, A kindred care for aught but one. "T would soothe to take one lingering view, LINES TO MR. HODGSON. [1809.] WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET. HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going, Bend the canvas o'er the mast. Prying from the custom-house; Not a corner for a mouse Now our boatmen quit their mooring, The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek, But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye, Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories. Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed, The desolated lands, the ravaged isle, The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile, The aid evaded, and the cold delay, Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey; The long degenerate noble; the debased These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round, show The false friend worse than the infuriate foe. VII. But not alone within the hoariest clime Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung. But these are gone-their faith, their swords, their sway, Yet left more anti-christian foes than they; That fiery festival of agony! The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both And form the barrier which Napoleon found,- VIII. But lo! a Congress! What! that hallow'd name Which freed the Atlantic? May we hope the same For outworn Europe? With the sound arise, Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes, The prophets of young Freedom, summon'd far From climes of Washington and Bolivar; Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes, Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas; § And stoic Franklin's energetic shade, Robed in the lightnings which his hand allay'd; And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake, To bid us blush for these old chains, or break. But who compose this senate of the few That should redeem the many? Who renew This consecrated name, till now assign'd To councils held to benefit mankind? Who now assemble at the holy call? The blest Alliance, which says three are all! An earthly trinity! which wears the shape Of heaven's, as man is mimick'd by the ape. | A pious unity! in purpose oneTo melt three fools to a Napoleon. Why, Egypt's gods were rational to these; Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees, And, quiet in their kennel or their shed, Cared little, so that they were duly fed; But these, more hungry, must have something more, The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore. By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth; Than we! for ours are animated logs, * "Santiago y serra España!" the old Spanish war-cry. + The Arragonians are peculiarly dexterous in the use of this weapon, and displayed it particularly in former French wars. The Congress of the sovereigns of Russia, Austria, Prussia, etc., etc., etc., which assembled at Verona, in the autumn of 1832. American Congress, died in June, 1797. Lord Byron alludes to his famous speech in 1765, in which, on saying, “Cresar had his Brutus-Charles the First his Cromwell-and George the Third- Henry was interrupted with shouts of "Trea son! treason!!"-but coolly finished the sentence with"George the Third may profit by their example; if this be ་་ § Patrick Henry, of Virginia, a leading member of the treason, make the most of it." |