Chapter I (1)

Through thy battlements, Newstead, [2] the hollow winds whistle: [ii]
Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way.

2.

Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly, to battle, [iii]
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, [3]
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.

3.

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell'd wreath;
Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan [4] slumbers,
Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel, by death.

4.

Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye:
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.

5.

On Marston, [5] with Rupert, [6] 'gainst traitors contending,
Four brothers enrich'd, with their blood, the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending, [iv]
Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. [7]

6.

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu! [v]
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.

7.

Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, [vi]
'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; [vii]
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his Fathers he ne'er can forget. [viii]

8.

That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish; [ix]
He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own!

1803.

[Footnote 1: The motto was prefixed in _Hours of Idleness_.]

[Footnote 2: The priory of Newstead, or de Novo Loco, in Sherwood, was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II. On the dissolution of the monasteries it was granted (in 1540) by Henry VIII. to "Sir John Byron the Little, with the great beard." His portrait is still preserved at Newstead.]

[Footnote 3: No record of any crusading ancestors in the Byron family can be found. Moore conjectures that the legend was suggested by some groups of heads on the old panel-work at Newstead, which appear to represent Christian soldiers and Saracens, and were, most probably, put up before the Abbey came into the possession of the family.]

[Footnote 4: Horistan Castle, in _Derbyshire_, an ancient seat of the B--R--N family [4to]. (Horiston.--4to.)]

[Footnote 5: The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.]

[Footnote 6: Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the Fleet, in the reign of Charles II.]

[Footnote 7: Sir Nicholas Byron, the great-grandson of Sir John Byron the Little, distinguished himself in the Civil Wars. He is described by Clarendon (_Hist, of the Rebellion_, 1807, i. 216) as "a person of great affability and dexterity, as well as martial knowledge." He was Governor of Carlisle, and afterwards Governor of Chester. His nephew and heir-at-law, Sir John Byron, of Clayton, K.B. (1599-1652), was raised to the peerage as Baron Byron of Rochdale, after the Battle of Newbury, October 26, 1643. He held successively the posts of Lieutenant of the Tower, Governor of Chester, and, after the expulsion of the Royal Family from England, Governor to the Duke of York. He died childless, and was succeeded by his brother Richard, the second lord, from whom the poet was descended. Five younger brothers, as Richard's monument in the chancel of Hucknall Torkard Church records, "faithfully served King Charles the First in the Civil Wars, suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their present fortunes." (See _Life of Lord Byron_, by Karl Elze: Appendix, Note (A), p. 436.)]

[Footnote i: 'On Leaving N ... ST ... D.'--[4to] 'On Leaving
Newstead.'--('P. on V. Occasions.')]

[Footnote ii:

'Through the cracks in these battlements loud the winds whistle
For the hall of my fathers is gone to decay;
And in yon once gay garden the hemlock and thistle
Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way'.

[4to]]

[Footnote iii:

'Of the barons of old, who once proudly to battle'.

[4to]]

[Footnote iv:

'For Charles the Martyr their country defending'.

[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]

[Footnote v: 'Bids ye adieu!' [4to]]

[Footnote vi: 'Though a tear dims.' [4to]]

[Footnote vii: ''Tis nature, not fear, which commands his regret'.
[4to]]

[Footnote viii: 'In the grave he alone can his fathers forget'. [4to]]

[Footnote ix: 'Your fame, and your memory, still will he cherish'.
[4to]]

TO E---[1]

Let Folly smile, to view the names
Of thee and me, in Friendship twin'd;
Yet Virtue will have greater claims
To love, than rank with vice combin'd.

And though unequal is _thy_ fate,
Since title deck'd my higher birth;
Yet envy not this gaudy state,
_Thine_ is the pride of modest worth.

Our _souls_ at least congenial meet,
Nor can _thy_ lot _my_ rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet,
Since worth of rank supplies the place.

_November_, 1802.

[Footnote 1: E---was, according to Moore, a boy of Byron's own age, the
son of one of the tenants at Newstead.]

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, [1]
COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.

1.

Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.

2.

Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
That clay, where once such animation beam'd;
The King of Terrors seiz'd her as his prey;
Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.

3.

Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel,
Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate,
Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
Not here the Muse her virtues would relate.

4.

But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day;
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers,
Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.

5.

And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign!
And, madly, Godlike Providence accuse!
Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;--
I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.

6.

Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face;
Still they call forth my warm affection's tear,
Still in my heart retain their wonted place. [i]

1802.

[Footnote 1: The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of fourteen), and his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration.--[4to]

"My first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition
of a passion for--my first cousin, Margaret Parker (daughter and
granddaughter of the two Admirals Parker), one of the most beautiful
of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten the verse; but it would be
difficult for me to forget her--her dark eyes--her long
eye-lashes--her completely Greek cast of face and figure! I was then
about twelve--she rather older, perhaps a year. She died about a year
or two afterwards, in consequence of a fall, which injured her spine,
and induced consumption ... I knew nothing of her illness, being at
Harrow and in the country till she was gone. Some years after, I made
an attempt at an elegy--a very dull one."--_Byron Diary_, 1821;
_Life_, p. 17.

[Margaret Parker was the sister of Sir Peter Parker, whose death at Baltimore, in 1814, Byron celebrated in the "Elegiac Stanzas," which were first published in the poems attached to the seventh edition of _Childe Harold_.]

[Footnote i: _Such sorrow brings me honour, not disgrace_. [4to]]

TO D---[1]

1.

In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp, [i]
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.

2.

True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_,
Yet, in my _heart_, thou keep'st thy seat; [ii]
There, there, thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.

3.

And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On _thy dear_ breast I'll lay my head--
Without _thee! where_ would be _my Heaven?_

February, 1803.

[Footnote 1: George John, 5th Earl Delawarr (1791-1869). (See _note_ 2, p. 100; see also lines "To George, Earl Delawarr," pp. 126-128.)]

[Footnote i:

_But envy with malignant grasp,
Has torn thee from my breast for ever.

[4to]]

[Footnote ii: _But in my heart_. [4to]]

TO CAROLINE. [i]

1.

Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay;
And heard _unmov'd_ thy plenteous sighs,
Which said far more than words can say? [ii]

2.

Though keen the grief _thy_ tears exprest, [iii]
When love and hope lay _both_ o'erthrown;
Yet still, my girl, _this_ bleeding breast
Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as _thine own_.

3.

But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
When _thy_ sweet lips were join'd to mine;
The tears that from _my_ eyelids flow'd
Were lost in those which fell from _thine_.

4.

Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek,
_Thy_ gushing tears had quench'd its flame,
And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
In _sighs alone_ it breath'd my name.

5.

And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore;
Remembrance only can remain,
But _that_, will make us weep the more.

6.

Again, thou best belov'd, adieu!
Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret,
Nor let thy mind past joys review,
Our only _hope_ is, to _forget_!

1805.

[Footnote i: _To_----. [4to]]

[Footnote ii: _than words could say_. [4to]]

[Footnote iii: _Though deep the grief_. [4to]]

TO CAROLINE. [1]

1.

You say you love, and yet your eye
No symptom of that love conveys,
You say you love, yet know not why,
Your cheek no sign of love betrays.

2.

Ah! did that breast with ardour glow,
With me alone it joy could know,
Or feel with me the listless woe,
Which racks my heart when far from thee.

3.

Whene'er we meet my blushes rise,
And mantle through my purpled cheek,
But yet no blush to mine replies,
Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak.

4.

Your voice alone declares your flame,
And though so sweet it breathes my name,
Our passions still are not the same;
Alas! you cannot love like me.

5.

For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow,
And though so oft it meets my kiss,
It burns with no responsive glow,
Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.

6.

Ah! what are words to love like _mine_,
Though uttered by a voice like thine,
I still in murmurs must repine,
And think that love can ne'er be _true_,

7.

Which meets me with no joyous sign,
Without a sigh which bids adieu;
How different is my love from thine,
How keen my grief when leaving you.

8.

Your image fills my anxious breast,
Till day declines adown the West,
And when at night, I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form I view.

9.

'Tis then your breast, no longer cold,
With equal ardour seems to burn,
While close your arms around me fold,
Your lips my kiss with warmth return.

10.

Ah! would these joyous moments last;
Vain HOPE! the gay delusion's past,
That voice!--ah! no, 'tis but the blast,
Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.

11.

But when _awake_, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptur'd all your charms,
So chill's the pressure of your cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.

12.

If thus, when to my heart embrac'd,
No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd,
You may be prudent, fair, and _chaste_,
But ah! my girl, you _do not love_.

[Footnote 1: These lines, which appear in the Quarto, were never republished.]

TO EMMA. [1]

1.

Since now the hour is come at last,
When you must quit your anxious lover;
Since now, our dream of bliss is past,
One pang, my girl, and all is over.

2.

Alas! that pang will be severe,
Which bids us part to meet no more;
Which tears me far from _one_ so dear,
_Departing_ for a distant shore.

3.

Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,
And joy will mingle with our tears;
When thinking on these ancient towers,
The shelter of our infant years;

4.

Where from this Gothic casement's height,
We view'd the lake, the park, the dell,
And still, though tears obstruct our sight,
We lingering look a last farewell,

5.

O'er fields through which we us'd to run,
And spend the hours in childish play;
O'er shades where, when our race was done,
Reposing on my breast you lay;

6.

Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,
Forgot to scare the hovering flies,
Yet envied every fly the kiss,
It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes:

7.

See still the little painted _bark_,
In which I row'd you o'er the lake;
See there, high waving o'er the park,
The _elm_ I clamber'd for your sake.

8.

These times are past, our joys are gone,
You leave me, leave this happy vale;
These scenes, I must retrace alone;
Without thee, what will they avail?

9.

Who can conceive, who has not prov'd,
The anguish of a last embrace?
When, torn from all you fondly lov'd,
You bid a long adieu to peace.

10.

_This_ is the deepest of our woes,
For _this_ these tears our cheeks bedew;
This is of love the final close,
Oh, God! the fondest, _last_ adieu!

1805.

[Footnote 1: To Maria--[4to]]

FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES:
FROM THE "PROMETHEUS VINCTUS" OF AESCHYLUS,

[Greek: Maedam o panta nem_on, K.T.L_] [1]

Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne
Both Gods and mortals homage pay,
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey.
Oft shall the sacred victim fall,
In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall;
My voice shall raise no impious strain,
'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.

...

How different now thy joyless fate,
Since first Hesione thy bride,
When plac'd aloft in godlike state,
The blushing beauty by thy side,
Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd,
And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd;
The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around,
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd, [2]

HARROW, December 1, 1804.

[Footnote 1: The Greek heading does not appear in the Quarto, nor in the three first Editions.]

[Footnote 2: "My first Harrow verses (that is, English, as exercises), a translation of a chorus from the 'Prometheus' of Æschylus, were received by Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our headmaster), but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poetry."--'Life', p. 20. The lines are not a translation but a loose adaptation or paraphrase of part of a chorus of the 'Prometheus Vinctus', I, 528, 'sq.']

LINES

WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN, BY J. J. ROUSSEAU; [1] FOUNDED ON FACTS."

"Away, away,--your flattering arts
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And _you_ will _smile_ at their believing,
And _they_ shall _weep_ at your deceiving."

[Footnote 1: A second edition of this work, of which the title is, _Letters, etc., translated from the French of Jean Jacques Rousseau_, was published in London, in 1784. It is, probably, a literary forgery.]

ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, [i] ADDRESSED TO MISS----.

Dear simple girl, those flattering arts,
(From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,)[ii]
Exist but in imagination,
Mere phantoms of thine own creation; [iii]
For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee:
Once in thy polish'd mirror glance [iv]
Thou'lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises.--
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, [v]
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery,--'tis truth. [vi]

July, 1804.

[Footnote i: _Answer to the above._ [4to] ]

[Footnote ii: _From which you'd._ [4to] ]

[Footnote iii:

_Mere phantoms of your own creation;
For he who sees_. [4to]]

[Footnote iv:

_Once let you at your mirror glance
You'll there descry that elegance,_ [4to]]

[Footnote v:

_Then he who tells you of your beauty._ [4to]]

[Footnote vi:

_It is not flattery, but truth_. [4to]]

ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL. [1]

Where are those honours, IDA! once your own,
When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne?
As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a Barbarian in her Cæsar's place,
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat _Pomposus_ where your _Probus_ sate.
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, [i]
Pomposus holds you in his harsh controul;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules,
(Such as were ne'er before enforc'd in schools.) [ii]
Mistaking _pedantry_ for _learning's_ laws,
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause;
With him the same dire fate, attending Rome,
Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom:
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the name,

HARROW, July, 1805.

[Footnote 1: In March, 1805, Dr. Drury, the Probus of the piece, retired from the Head-mastership of Harrow School, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler, the Pomposus. "Dr. Drury," said Byron, in one of his note-books, "was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father." Out of affection to his late preceptor, Byron advocated the election of Mark Drury to the vacant post, and hence his dislike of the successful candidate. He was reconciled to Dr. Butler before departing for Greece, in 1809, and in his diary he says, "I treated him rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since." (See allusions in and notes to "Childish Recollections," pp. 84-106, and especially note I, p. 88, notes I and 2, p. 89, and note I, p. 91.)] ]

[Footnote i:

----_but of a narrower soul_.--[4to]]

[Footnote ii:

_Such as were ne'er before beheld in schools._--[4to]]

EPITAPH ON A BELOVED FRIEND.[1]

[Greek: Astaer prin men elampes eni tsuoisin hepsos.]

[Plato's Epitaph (Epig. Græc., Jacobs, 1826, p. 309), quoted by Diog. Laertins.]

Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever dear! [i]
What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath,
Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst liv'd to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight.
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
What though thy sire lament his failing line,
A father's sorrows cannot equal mine!
Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer,
Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here:
But, who with me shall hold thy former place?
Thine image, what new friendship can efface?
Ah, none!--a father's tears will cease to flow,
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
To all, save one, is consolation known,
While solitary Friendship sighs alone.

HARROW, 1803. [2]

[Footnote i:

_Oh Boy! for ever loved, for ever dear!
What fruitless tears have wash'd thy honour'd bier;
What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath,
Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs of death.
Could tears have turn'd the tyrant in his course,
Could sighs have checked his dart's relentless force; [iii]
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey,
Thou still had'st liv'd to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight:
Though low thy lot since in a cottage born,
No titles did thy humble name adorn,
To me, far dearer, was thy artless love,
Than all the joys, wealth, fame, and friends could prove.
For thee alone I liv'd, or wish'd to live,
(Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive,)
Heart-broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb;
Where this frail form compos'd in endless rest,
I'll make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life, I've laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead;
This life resign'd, without one parting sigh,
Together in one bed of earth we'll lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given,
Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven._

HARROW, 1803.--[4to. _P. on V. Occasions._]]

[Footnote 1: The heading which appears in the Quarto and _P. on V. Occasions_ was subsequently changed to "Epitaph on a Friend." The motto was prefixed in 'Hours of Idleness'. The epigram which Bergk leaves under Plato's name was translated by Shelley ('Poems', 1895, iii. 361)--

"Thou wert the morning star
Among the living,
Ere thy fair light had fled;
Now having died, thou art as
Hesperus, giving
New splendour to the dead."

There is an echo of the Greek distich in Byron's exquisite line, "The Morning-Star of Memory."

The words, "Southwell, March 17," are added, in a lady's hand, on p. 9 of the annotated copy of P. 'on' V. 'Occasions' in the British Museum. The conjecture that the "'beloved' friend," who is of humble origin, is identical with "E----" of the verses on p. 4, remains uncertain.]

[Footnote ii:
_have bath'd thy honoured bier._

[_P. on V. Occasions._] ]

[Footnote iii:
_Could tears retard,_ [_P. on V. Occasions._]
_Could sighs avert._ [_P. on V. Occasions._] ]

ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL WHEN DYING.

Animula! vagula, Blandula,
Hospes, comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in Loca--
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec, ut soles, dabis Jocos?

TRANSLATION.

Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!
To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight?
No more with wonted humour gay,
But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.

1806.

A FRAGMENT. [1]

When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;
When, pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride,
Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side;
Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns,
To mark the spot where earth to earth returns!
No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone; [i]
My _epitaph_ shall be my name alone: [2]
If _that_ with honour fail to crown my clay, [ii]
Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay!
_That_, only _that_, shall single out the spot;
By that remember'd, or with that forgot. [iii]

1803.

[Footnote 1: There is no heading in the Quarto.]

[Footnote 2: In his will, drawn up in 1811, Byron gave directions that "no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb." June, 1819, he wrote to Murray: "Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for instance, 'Martini Luigi Implora pace.' Can anything be more full of pathos? I hope whoever may survive me will see those two words, and no more, put over me."--'Life', pp. 131, 398.]

[Footnote: i.

'No lengthen'd scroll of virtue and renown.'

[4to. P. on V. Occ.]]

[Footnote: ii.

'If that with honour fails,'

[4to]]

[Footnote: iii.

'But that remember'd, or fore'er forgot'.

[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]

TO CAROLINE. [1]

1.

Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay?
The present is hell! and the coming to-morrow
But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.

2.

From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no curses, [i]
I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss;
For poor is the soul which, bewailing, rehearses
Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this--

3.

Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning,
Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage,
On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning,
With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.

4.

But now tears and curses, alike unavailing,
Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight;
Could they view us our sad separation bewailing,
Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight.

5.

Yet, still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation,
Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer;
Love and Hope upon earth bring no more consolation,
In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear.

6.

Oh! when, my ador'd, in the tomb will they place me,
Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled?
If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee,
Perhaps they will leave unmolested--the dead.

1805.

[Footnote 1: [To------.--[4to].]]

[Footnote i: 'fall no curses'.--[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]

TO CAROLINE. [1]

1.

When I hear you express an affection so warm,
Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe;
For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,
And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.

2.

Yet still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring,
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear,
That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring,
Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;

3.

That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining
Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze,
When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.

4.

Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features,
Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree
Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures,
In the death which one day will deprive you of me. [i]

5.

Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, [ii]
No doubt can the mind of your lover invade;
He worships each look with such faithful devotion,
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.

6.

But as death, my belov'd, soon or late shall o'ertake us,
And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow,
Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us,
When calling the dead, in Earth's bosom laid low.

7.

Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure,
Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flow; [iii]
Let us pass round the cup of Love's bliss in full measure,
And quaff the contents as our nectar below.

1805.

[Footnote 1: [There is no heading in the Quarto.]]

[Footnote i: _will deprive me of thee_.--[4to]]

[Footnote ii:

_No jargon of priests o'er our union was mutter'd,
To rivet the fetters of husband and wife;
By our lips, by our hearts, were our vows alone utter'd,
To perform them, in full, would ask more than a life_.--[4to]]

[Footnote iii: _will unceasingly flow_.--[4to]]

ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL OF HARROW ON THE HILL, 1806.

Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.[1]

VIRGIL.

1.

Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection
Embitters the present, compar'd with the past;
Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,
And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last; [2]

2.

Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied; [3]
How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrance, [i]
Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd!

3.

Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought; [4]
The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught.

4.

Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd,
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone [5] I lay;
Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd,
To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.

5.

I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded,
Where, as Zanga, [6] I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown;
While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,
I fancied that Mossop [7] himself was outshone.

6.

Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation,
By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv'd;
Till, fir'd by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
I regarded myself as a _Garrick_ reviv'd. [ii]

7.

Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast; [iii]
Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you:
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.

8.

To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me, [iv]
While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
Since Darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul!

9.

But if, through the course of the years which await me,
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
"Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew." [8]

1806.

[Footnote 1: The motto was prefixed in 'Hours of Idleness'.]

[Footnote 2:

"My school-friendships were with me _passions_ (for I was always
violent), but I do not know that there is one which has endured (to be
sure, some have been cut short by death) till now."

'Diary', 1821; 'Life', p. 21.]

[Footnote 3: Byron was at first placed in the house of Mr. Henry Drury, but in 1803 was removed to that of Mr. Evans.

"The reason why Lord Byron wishes for the change, arises from the
repeated complaints of Mr. Henry Drury respecting his inattention to
business, and his propensity to make others laugh and disregard their
employment as much as himself."

Dr. Joseph Drury to Mr. John Hanson.]

[Footnote 4:

"At Harrow I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but one battle
out of seven."

'Diary', 1821; 'Life', p. 21.]

[Footnote 5: A tomb in the churchyard at Harrow was so well known to be his favourite resting-place, that the boys called it "Byron's Tomb:" and here, they say, he used to sit for hours, wrapt up in thought.--'Life', p. 26.]

[Footnote 6: For the display of his declamatory powers, on the speech-days, he selected always the most vehement passages; such as the speech of Zanga over the body of Alonzo, and Lear's address to the storm.--'Life', p. 20, 'note'; and 'post', p. 103, 'var'. i.]

[Footnote 7: Henry Mossop (1729-1773), a contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of "Zanga" in Young's tragedy of 'The Revenge'.]

[Footnote 8: Stanzas 8 and 9 first appeared in 'Hours of Idleness'.]

[Footnote i:
'How welcome once more'.

[4to]]

[Footnote ii:

'I consider'd myself'.

[4to]]

[Footnote iii:

'As your memory beams through this agonized breast;
Thus sad and deserted, I n'er can forget you,
Though this heart throbs to bursting by anguish possest.

[4to]

Your memory beams through this agonized breast.--

[P. on V. Occasions.']

[Footnote iv:

'I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madness,
Of tears as of reason for ever was drain'd;
But the drops which now flow down _this_ bosom of sadness,
Convince me the springs have some moisture retain'd'.

'Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection,
Has wrung from these eyelids, to weeping long dead,
In torrents, the tears of my warmest affection,
The last and the fondest, I ever shall shed'.

[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION.

High in the midst, surrounded by his peers,
Magnus [1] his ample front sublime uprears: [i]
Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a God,
While Sophs [2] and Freshmen tremble at his nod;
As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, [ii]
_His_ voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome;
Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools,
Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.

Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried,
Though little vers'd in any art beside; 10
Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen, [iii]
Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken.

What! though he knows not how his fathers bled,
When civil discord pil'd the fields with dead,
When Edward bade his conquering bands advance,
Or Henry trampled on the crest of France:
Though marvelling at the name of _Magna Charta_,
Yet well he recollects the _laws_ of _Sparta_;
Can tell, what edicts sage _Lycurgus_ made,
While _Blackstone's_ on the _shelf_, _neglected_ laid; 20
Of _Grecian dramas_ vaunts the deathless fame,
Of _Avon's bard_, rememb'ring scarce the name.

Such is the youth whose scientific pate
Class-honours, medals, fellowships, await;
Or even, perhaps, the _declamation_ prize,
If to such glorious height, he lifts his eyes.
But lo! no _common_ orator can hope
The envied silver cup within his scope:
Not that our _heads_ much eloquence require,
Th' ATHENIAN'S [3] glowing style, or TULLY'S fire. 30
A _manner_ clear or warm is useless, since [iv]
We do not try by _speaking_ to _convince_;
Be other _orators_ of pleasing _proud_,--
We speak to _please_ ourselves, not _move_ the crowd:
Our gravity prefers the _muttering_ tone,
A proper mixture of the _squeak_ and _groan_:
No borrow'd _grace_ of _action_ must be seen,
The slightest motion would displease the _Dean_;
Whilst every staring Graduate would prate,
Against what--_he_ could never imitate. 40

The man, who hopes t' obtain the promis'd cup,
Must in one _posture_ stand, and _ne'er look up_;
Nor _stop_, but rattle over _every_ word--
No matter _what_, so it can _not_ be heard:
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest:
Who speaks the _fastest's_ sure to speak the _best_;
Who utters most within the shortest space,
May, safely, hope to win the _wordy race_.

The Sons of _Science_ these, who, thus repaid,
Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade; 50
Where on Cam's sedgy banks, supine, they lie,
Unknown, unhonour'd live--unwept for die:
Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls,
They think all learning fix'd within their walls:
In manners rude, in foolish forms precise,
All modern arts affecting to despise;
Yet prizing _Bentley's, Brunck's_, or _Porson's_ [4] note, [v]
More than the _verse on which the critic wrote_:
Vain as their honours, heavy as their Ale, [5]
Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale; 60
To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel,
When Self and Church demand a Bigot zeal.
With eager haste they court the lord of power, [vi]
(Whether 'tis PITT or PETTY [6] rules the hour;)
To _him_, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head,
While distant mitres to their eyes are spread; [vii]
But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace,
They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his place.
_Such_ are the men who learning's treasures guard!
_Such_ is their _practice_, such is their _reward_! 70
This _much_, at least, we may presume to say--
The premium can't exceed the _price_ they _pay_. [viii]

1806.

[Footnote 1:

No reflection is here intended against the person mentioned under the
name of Magnus. He is merely represented as performing an unavoidable
function of his office. Indeed, such an attempt could only recoil upon
myself; as that gentleman is now as much distinguished by his
eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he fills his
situation, as he was in his younger days for wit and conviviality.

[Dr. William Lort Mansel (1753-1820) was, in 1798, appointed Master of Trinity College, by Pitt. He obtained the bishopric of Bristol, through the influence of his pupil, Spencer Perceval, in 1808. He died in 1820.]

[Footnote 2: Undergraduates of the second and third year.]

[Footnote 3: Demosthenes.]

[Footnote 4: The present Greek professor at Trinity College, Cambridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may, perhaps, justify their preference. [Richard Porson (1759-1808). For Byron's description of him, see letter to Murray, of February 20, 1818. Byron says ('Diary', December 17, 18, 1813) that he wrote the 'Devil's Drive' in imitation of Porson's 'Devil's Walk'. This was a common misapprehension at the time. The 'Devil's Thoughts' was the joint composition of Coleridge and Southey, but it was generally attributed to Porson, who took no trouble to disclaim it. It was originally published in the 'Morning Post', Sept. 6, 1799, and Stuart, the editor, said that it raised the circulation of the paper for several days after. (See Coleridge's Poems (1893), pp. 147, 621.)]

[Footnote 5: Lines 59-62 are not in the Quarto. They first appeared in 'Poems Original and Translated']

[Footnote 6: Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty has lost his place, and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honour of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no comment. (Lord Henry Petty, M.P. for the University of Cambridge, was Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1805; but in 1807 he lost his seat. In 1809 he succeeded his brother as Marquis of Lansdowne. He died in 1863.)]

[Footnote i: 'M--us--l.--'[4to]]

[Footnote ii: 'Whilst all around.'--[4to]]

[Footnote iii:

'Who with scarse sense to pen an English letter,
Yet with precision scans an Attis metre.'

[4to]]

[Footnote iv:

'The manner of the speech is nothing, since',

[4to. 'P, on V. Occasions'.]]

[Footnote v:

'Celebrated critics'.

[4to. 'Three first Editions'.]]

[Footnote vi:

'They court the tool of power'.

[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions.']]

[Footnote vii:

'While mitres, prebends'.

[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions.']]

[Footnote viii:

The 'reward's' scarce equal to the 'price' they pay.

[4to]]

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. [1]

1.

This faint resemblance of thy charms,
(Though strong as mortal art could give,)
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

2.

Here, I can trace the locks of gold
Which round thy snowy forehead wave;
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,
The lips, which made me 'Beauty's' slave.

3.

Here I can trace--ah, no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
Must all the painter's art defy,
And bid him from the task retire.

4.

Here, I behold its beauteous hue;
But where's the beam so sweetly straying, [i.]
Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

5.

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,
Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.

6.

She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,
Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious that her image there
Held every sense in fast controul.

7.

Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time,'twill cheer--
My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;
In life's last conflict 'twill appear,
And meet my fond, expiring gaze.

[Footnote 1: This "Mary" is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or "Mary" of Aberdeen. She was of humble station in life. Byron used to show a lock of her light golden hair, as well as her picture, among his friends. (See 'Life', p. 41, 'note'.)]

[Footnote i.:

'But Where's the beam of soft desire?
Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Love, only love, could e'er inspire.--'

[4to. 'P. on V, Occasions]]

ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX,[1]

THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN THE "MORNING POST."

"Our Nation's foes lament on _Fox's_ death,
But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath:
These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue,
We give the palm, where Justice points its due."

TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE FOLLOWING REPLY [i] FOR INSERTION IN THE "MORNING CHRONICLE."

Oh, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Would mangle, still, the dead, perverting truth; [ii]
What, though our "nation's foes" lament the fate,
With generous feeling, of the good and great;
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name [iii]
Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame?
When PITT expir'd in plenitude of power,
Though ill success obscur'd his dying hour,
Pity her dewy wings before him spread,
For noble spirits "war not with the dead:"
His friends in tears, a last sad requiem gave,
As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; [iv]
He sunk, an Atlas bending "'neath the weight" [v]
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state.
When, lo! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd,
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd:
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, [vi]
With him, our fast reviving hopes have died;
Not one great people, only, raise his urn,
All Europe's far-extended regions mourn.
"These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue,
To give the palm where Justice points its due;" [vii]
Yet, let not canker'd Calumny assail, [viii]
Or round her statesman wind her gloomy veil.
FOX! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep,
Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep;
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan,
While friends and foes, alike, his talents own.--[ix]
Fox! shall, in Britain's future annals, shine,
Nor e'en to PITT, the patriot's 'palm' resign;
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask,
For PITT, and PITT alone, has dar'd to ask. [x]

(Southwell, Oct., 1806. [1])

[Footnote 1: The stanza on the death of Fox appeared in the _Morning Post_, September 26, 1806.]

[Footnote 2: This MS. is preserved at Newstead.]

[Footnote i:

_The subjoined Reply._

[4to] ]

[Footnote ii:

_Would mangle, still, the dead, in spite of truth._

[4to] ]

[Footnote iii:

_Shall, therefore, dastard tongues assail the name
Of him, whose virtues claim eternal fame?_

[4to] ]

[Footnote iv: _And all his errors._--[4to] ]

[Footnote v: _He died, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight Of cares oppressing our unhappy state. But lo! another Hercules appeared._

[4to] ]

[Footnote vi:

_He too is dead who still our England propp'd With him our fast reviving hopes have dropp'd._

[4to] ]

[Footnote vii: _And give the palm._ [4to] ]

[Footnote viii:

_But let not canker'd Calumny assail
And round.--

[4to] ]

[Footnote ix: _And friends and foes._ [4to] ]

[Footnote x: '--would dare to ask.' [410]]

TO A LADY WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OF HAIR BRAIDED WITH HIS OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGHT IN DECEMBER TO MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN. [1]

These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've prov'd it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov'd it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like _Lydia Languish_,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar'd her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a _sea-coal_ fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang'd the place of declaration.
In Italy, I've no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you: [i.]
'There', we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves,
That ever witness'd rural loves;
'Then', if my passion fail to please, [ii.]
Next night I'll be content to freeze;
No more I'll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after. [2]

[Footnote 1: These lines are addressed to the same Mary referred to in the lines beginning, "This faint resemblance of thy charms." ('Vide ante', p. 32.)]

[Footnote 2: In the above little piece the author has been accused by some 'candid readers' of introducing the name of a lady [Julia Leacroft] from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time this was written; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in "the tomb of all the Capulets," has been converted, with a trifling alteration of her name, into an English damsel, walking in a garden of their own creation, during the month of 'December', in a village where the author never passed a winter. Such has been the candour of some ingenious critics. We would advise these 'liberal' commentators on taste and arbiters of decorum to read 'Shakespeare'.

Having heard that a very severe and indelicate censure has been passed on the above poem, I beg leave to reply in a quotation from an admired work, 'Carr's Stranger in France'.--"As we were contemplating a painting on a large scale, in which, among other figures, is the uncovered whole length of a warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of desperation, after having attentively surveyed it through her glass, observed to her party that there was a great deal of indecorum in that picture. Madame S. shrewdly whispered in my ear 'that the indecorum was in the remark.'"--[Ed. 1803, cap. xvi, p. 171. Compare the note on verses addressed "To a Knot of Ungenerous Critics," p. 213.]]

[Footnote i:

'Oh! let me in your chamber greet you.'

[4to]]

[Footnote ii:

'There if my passion'

[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions]]

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. [1]

Sweet girl! though only once we met,
That meeting I shall ne'er forget;
And though we ne'er may meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain;
I would not say, "I love," but still,
My senses struggle with my will:
In vain to drive thee from my breast,
My thoughts are more and more represt;
In vain I check the rising sighs,
Another to the last replies:
Perhaps, this is not love, but yet,
Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

What, though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;
The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,
And tells a tale it never feels:
Deceit, the guilty lips impart,
And hush the mandates of the heart;
But soul's interpreters, the eyes,
Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.
As thus our glances oft convers'd,
And all our bosoms felt rehears'd,
No _spirit_, from within, reprov'd us,
Say rather, "'twas the _spirit mov'd_ us."
Though, what they utter'd, I repress,
Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess;
For as on thee, my memory ponders,
Perchance to me, thine also wanders.
This, for myself, at least, I'll say,
Thy form appears through night, through day;
Awake, with it my fancy teems,
In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams;
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora's ray
For breaking slumbers of delight,
Which make me wish for endless night.
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or woe my steps await;
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image, I can ne'er forget.

Alas! again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;
Then, let me breathe this parting prayer,
The dictate of my bosom's care:
"May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker,
That anguish never can o'ertake her;
That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her,
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker!
Oh! may the happy mortal, fated [i]
To be, by dearest ties, related,
For _her_, each hour, _new joys_ discover, [ii]
And lose the husband in the lover!
May that fair bosom never know
What 'tis to feel the restless woe,
Which stings the soul, with vain regret,
Of him, who never can forget!"

1806.

[Footnote 1:

_Whom the author saw at Harrowgate_.

Annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions', p. 64 (British Museum).]

[Footnote i: The Quarto inserts the following lines:--

_"No jealous passion shall invade,
No envy that pure heart pervade;"
For he that revels in such charms,
Can never seek another's arms._]

[Footnote ii:

new joy _discover_.

[4to]]

TO LESBIA! [i] [1]

1.

LESBIA! since far from you I've rang'd, [ii]
Our souls with fond affection glow not;
You say, 'tis I, not you, have chang'd,
I'd tell you why,--but yet I know not.

2.

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;
And Lesbia! we are not much older, [iii]
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,
Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.

3.

Sixteen was then our utmost age,
Two years have lingering pass'd away, love!
And now new thoughts our minds engage,
At least, I feel disposed to stray, love!

4.

"Tis _I_ that am alone to blame,
_I_, that am guilty of love's treason;
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.

5.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

6.

No, no, my flame was not pretended;
For, oh! I lov'd you most sincerely;
And though our dream at last is ended
My bosom still esteems you dearly.

7.

No more we meet in yonder bowers;
Absence has made me prone to roving; [iv]
But older, firmer _hearts_ than ours
Have found monotony in loving.

8.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd,
New beauties, still, are daily bright'ning,
Your eye, for conquest beams prepar'd, [v]
The forge of love's resistless lightning.

9.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,
Many will throng, to sigh like me, love!
More constant they may prove, indeed;
Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

1806.

[Footnote 1: "The lady's name was Julia Leacroft" ('Note by Miss E. Pigot'). The word "Julia" (?) is added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions', p. 52 (British Museum)]

[Footnote i: 'To Julia'. [4to]]

[Footnote ii: 'Julia since'. [4to]]

[Footnote iii: 'And Julia'. [4to]]

[Footnote iv:

_Perhaps my soul's too pure for roving_.

[4to]]

[Footnote v:

_Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd_.

[4to]]

TO WOMAN.

Woman! experience might have told me [i]
That all must love thee, who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought; [ii]
But, plac'd in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to _adore_ thee.
Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,
When join'd with hope, when still possessing; [iii]
But how much curst by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 'twill last for ay,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,'
"Woman, thy vows are trac'd in sand." [1] [iv]

[Footnote i:

_Surely, experience_.

[4to]]

[Footnote ii:

_A woman's promises are naught_.

[4to]]

[Footnote iii: Here follows, in the Quarto, an additional couplet:--

_Thou whisperest, as our hearts are beating,
"What oft we've done, we're still repeating_,"]

[Footnote iv:

_This Record will for ever stand
That Woman's vows are writ in sand_.

[4to]]

[Footnote 1: The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.

(The last line is not "almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb," but an adaptation of part of a stanza from the 'Diana' of Jorge de Montemajor--

"Mirà, el Amor, lo que ordena;
Que os viene a hazer creer
Cosas dichas por muger,
Y escriptas en el arena."

Southey, in his 'Letters from Spain', 1797, pp. 87-91, gives a specimen of the 'Diana', and renders the lines in question thus--

"And Love beheld us from his secret stand,
And mark'd his triumph, laughing, to behold me,
To see me trust a writing traced in sand,
To see me credit what a woman told me."

Byron, who at this time had little or no knowledge of Spanish literature, seems to have been struck with Southey's paraphrase, and compressed the quatrain into an epigram.]

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,

DELIVERED BY THE AUTHOR PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF "THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE" AT A PRIVATE THEATRE. [1]