Chapter I (2)

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Since the refinement of this polish'd age
Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;
Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit,
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;
Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek,
Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek;
Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim,
And meet indulgence--though she find not fame.
Still, not for _her_ alone, we wish respect, [i]
_Others_ appear more conscious of defect:
To-night no _vet'ran Roscii_ you behold,
In all the arts of scenic action old;
No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here,
No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear;
To-night you throng to witness the _début_
Of embryo Actors, to the Drama new:
Here, then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try;
Clip not our _pinions_, ere the _birds can fly_:
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.
Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays,
Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise;
But all our Dramatis Personæ wait,
In fond suspense this crisis of their fate.
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For these, each _Hero_ all his power displays, [ii]
Each timid _Heroine_ shrinks before your gaze:
Surely the last will some protection find? [iii]
None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind:
While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, [iv]
The sternest Censor to the fair must yield. [v]
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, _after all_, our best endeavours fail;
Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And, if you can't applaud, at least _forgive_.

[Footnote 1. "I enacted Penruddock, in 'The Wheel of Fortune', and Tristram Fickle, in the farce of 'The Weathercock', for three nights, in some private theatricals at Southwell, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition."--'Diary; Life', p. 38. The prologue was written by him, between stages, on his way from Harrogate. On getting into the carriage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion, "Now, Pigot, I'll spin a prologue for our play;" and before they reached Mansfield he had completed his task,--interrupting only once his rhyming reverie, to ask the proper pronunciation of the French word 'début'; and, on being told it, exclaiming, "Aye, that will do for rhyme to ''new'.'"--'Life', p. 39. "The Prologue was spoken by G. Wylde, Esq."--Note by Miss E. PIGOT.]

[Footnote i. _But not for her alone_.--[4to]

[Footnote ii: _For them each Hero_.--[4to]]

[Footnote iii: _Surely these last_.--[4to]]

[Footnote iv: _Whilst Youth_.--[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]

[Footnote v: _The sternest critic_.--[4to]]

TO ELIZA. [i]

Eliza! [1] what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who, to woman, deny the soul's future existence;
Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance. [ii]

Had their Prophet possess'd half an atom of sense, [iii]
He ne'er would have _woman_ from Paradise driven;
Instead of his _Houris_, a flimsy pretence, [iv]
With _woman alone_ he had peopled his Heaven.

Yet, still, to increase your calamities more, [v]
Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
He allots one poor husband to share amongst four! [vi]--
With _souls_ you'd dispense; but, this last, who could bear it?

His religion to please neither party is made;
On _husbands_ 'tis _hard_, to the wives most uncivil;
Still I can't contradict, [vii] what so oft has been said,
"Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil."

This terrible truth, even Scripture has told, [2]
Ye Benedicks! hear me, and listen with rapture;
If a glimpse of redemption you wish to behold,
Of ST. MATT.--read the second and twentieth chapter.

'Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex'd,
With wives who eternal confusion are spreading;
"But in Heaven" (so runs the Evangelists' Text)
"We neither have giving in marriage, or wedding."

From this we suppose, (as indeed well we may,)
That should Saints after death, with their spouses put up more,
And wives, as in life, aim at absolute sway,
All Heaven would ring with the conjugal uproar.

Distraction and Discord would follow in course,
Nor MATTHEW, nor MARK, nor ST. PAUL, can deny it,
The only expedient is general divorce,
To prevent universal disturbance and riot.

But though husband and wife, shall at length be disjoin'd,
Yet woman and man ne'er were meant to dissever,
Our chains once dissolv'd, and our hearts unconfin'd,
We'll love without bonds, but we'll love you for ever.

10.

Though souls are denied you by fools and by rakes,
Should you own it yourselves, I would even then doubt you,
Your nature so much of _celestial_ partakes,
The Garden of Eden would wither without you.

Southwell, _October_ 9, 1806.

[Footnote 1: The letters "E. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of _P. on V. Occasions_, p. 26 (_British Museum_). The initials stand for Miss Elizabeth Pigot.]

[Footnote 2: Stanzas 5-10, which appear in the Quarto, were never reprinted.]

[Footnote i:

_To Miss E. P._ [4to]
_To Miss_---. [_P. on V. Occasions._]]

[Footnote ii:

_Did they know but yourself they would bend with respect,
And this doctrine must meet_---.

[_MS. Newstead_.]]

[Footnote iii: _But an atom of sense_. [4to]]

[Footnote iv: _But instead of his_ Houris. [4to]]

[Footnote v: _But still to increase_. [4to]]

[Footnote vi: _He allots but one husband. [4to]]

[Footnote vii: _But I can't---._ [4to]]

THE TEAR.

O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. [1]

GRAY, 'Alcaic Fragment'.

When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a _Tear_.

Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a _Tear_.

Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a _Tear_.

The man, doom'd to sail
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a _Tear_.

The Soldier braves death
For a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe
When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a _Tear_.

If, with high-bounding pride,[i]
He return to his bride!
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid
When, embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the _Tear_.

Sweet scene of my youth! [2]
Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chas'd each fast-fleeting year;
Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,
For a last look I turn'd,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a _Tear_.

Though my vows I can pour,
To my Mary no more, [3]
My Mary, to Love once so dear,
In the shade of her bow'r,
I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a _Tear_.

By another possest,
May she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
With a sigh I resign,
What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a _Tear_.

10.

Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
If again we shall meet,
In this rural retreat,
May we _meet_, as we _part_, with a _Tear_.

11.

When my soul wings her flight
To the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier; [ii]
As ye pass by the tomb,
Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a _Tear_.

12.

May no marble bestow
The splendour of woe,
Which the children of Vanity rear;
No fiction of fame
Shall blazon my name,
All I ask, all I wish, is a _Tear_.

October 26, 1806. [iii]

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

[Footnote 2: Harrow.]

[Footnote 3: Miss Chaworth was married in 1805.]

[Footnote i:

_When with high-bounding pride,
He returns_----.

[4to]]

[Footnote ii:

_And my body shall sleep on its bier_.

[4to. _P. on V. Occasions_.]]

[Footnote iii:

BYRON, October 26, 1806.

[4to]]

REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS. [1]

Why, Pigot, complain
Of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?
For months you may try,
Yet, believe me, a _sigh_ [i]
Will never obtain a _coquette_.

Would you teach her to love?
For a time seem to rove;
At first she may _frown_ in a _pet;_
But leave her awhile,
She shortly will smile,
And then you may _kiss_ your _coquette_.

For such are the airs
Of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our _homage_ a _debt_:
Yet a partial neglect [ii]
Soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest _coquette_.

Dissemble your pain,
And lengthen your chain,
And seem her _hauteur_ to _regret;_ [iii]
If again you shall sigh,
She no more will deny,
That _yours_ is the rosy _coquette_.

If still, from false pride, [iv]
Your pangs she deride,
This whimsical virgin forget;
Some _other_ admire,
Who will _melt_ with your _fire_,
And laugh at the _little coquette_.

For _me_, I adore
Some _twenty_ or more,
And love them most dearly; but yet,
Though my heart they enthral,
I'd abandon them all,
Did they act like your blooming _coquette_.

No longer repine,
Adopt this design, [v]
And break through her slight-woven net!
Away with despair,
No longer forbear
To fly from the captious _coquette_.

Then quit her, my friend!
Your bosom defend,
Ere quite with her snares you're beset:
Lest your deep-wounded heart,
When incens'd by the smart,
Should lead you to _curse_ the _coquette_.

October 27, 1806. [vi]

[Footnote 1: The letters "C. B. F. J. B. M." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions', p. 14 (British Museum).]

[Footnote i: _But believe me_. [4to]]

[Footnote ii: _But a partial_. [4to]]

[Footnote iii: _Nor seem_. [4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]

[Footnote iv: _But if from false pride._ [4to]]

[Footnote v: _But form this design._ [4to]]

[Footnote vi: BYRON, October 27, 1806. [4to]

GRANTA. A MEDLEY.

[Greek: Argureais logchaisi machou kai panta krataese_o.] [1]

(Reply of the Pythian Oracle to Philip of Macedon.)

Oh! could LE SAGE'S [2] demon's gift
Be realis'd at my desire,
This night my trembling form he'd lift
To place it on St. Mary's spire. [i]

Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls,
Pedantic inmates full display;
_Fellows_ who dream on _lawn_ or _stalls_,
The price of venal votes to pay. [ii]

Then would I view each rival wight,
PETTY and PALMERSTON survey;
Who canvass there, with all their might, [iii]
Against the next elective day. [3]

Lo! candidates and voters lie [iv]
All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number!
A race renown'd for piety,
Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber.

Lord H---[4] indeed, may not demur;
Fellows are sage, reflecting men:
They know preferment can occur,
But very seldom,--_now_ and _then_.

They know the Chancellor has got
Some pretty livings in disposal:
Each hopes that _one_ may be his _lot_,
And, therefore, smiles on his proposal. [v]

Now from the soporific scene [vi]
I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later,
To view, unheeded and unseen, [vii]
The studious sons of Alma Mater.

There, in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes,
Sits poring by the midnight lamp;
Goes late to bed, yet early rises. [viii]

He surely well deserves to gain them,
With all the honours of his college, [ix]
Who, striving hardly to obtain them,
Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge:

10.

Who sacrifices hours of rest,
To scan precisely metres Attic;
Or agitates his anxious breast, [x]
In solving problems mathematic:

11.

Who reads false quantities in Seale, [5]
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle;
Depriv'd of many a wholesome meal; [xi]
In _barbarous Latin_ [6] doom'd to wrangle:

12.

Renouncing every pleasing page,
From authors of historic use;
Preferring to the letter'd sage,
The square of the hypothenuse. [7]

13.

Still, harmless are these occupations, [xii]
That hurt none but the hapless student,
Compar'd with other recreations,
Which bring together the imprudent;

14.

Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine,
When Drunkenness and dice invite, [xiii]
As every sense is steep'd in wine.

15.

Not so the methodistic crew,
Who plans of reformation lay:
In humble attitude they sue,
And for the sins of others pray:

16.

Forgetting that their pride of spirit,
Their exultation in their trial, [xiv]
Detracts most largely from the merit
Of all their boasted self-denial.

17.

'Tis morn:--from these I turn my sight:
What scene is this which meets the eye?
A numerous crowd array'd in white, [8]
Across the green in numbers fly.

18.

Loud rings in air the chapel bell;
'Tis hush'd:--what sounds are these I hear?
The organ's soft celestial swell
Rolls deeply on the listening ear.

19.

To this is join'd the sacred song,
The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain;
Though _he_ who hears the _music_ long, [xv]
Will _never_ wish to _hear again_.

20.

Our choir would scarcely be excus'd,
E'en as a band of raw beginners;
All mercy, now, must be refus'd [xvi]
To such a set of croaking sinners.

21.

If David, when his toils were ended,
Had heard these blockheads sing before him,
To us his psalms had ne'er descended,--
In furious mood he would have tore 'em.

22.

The luckless Israelites, when taken
By some inhuman tyrant's order,
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken,
On Babylonian river's border.

23.

Oh! had they sung in notes like these [xvii]
Inspir'd by stratagem or fear,
They might have set their hearts at ease,
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.

24.

But if I scribble longer now, [xviii]
The deuce a soul will _stay to read_;
My pen is blunt, my ink is low;
'Tis almost time to _stop_, _indeed_.

25.

Therefore, farewell, old _Granta's_ spires!
No more, like _Cleofas_, I fly;
No more thy theme my Muse inspires:
The reader's tir'd, and so am I.

October 28, 1806.

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

"Fight with silver spears" ('i.e'. with bribes), "and them shall
prevail in all things."]

[Footnote 2: The 'Diable Boiteux' of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection. [Don Cleofas, clinging to the cloak of Asmodeus, is carried through the air to the summit of S. Salvador.]

[Footnote 3: On the death of Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry Petty beat Lord Palmerston in the contest for the representation of the University of Cambridge in Parliament.]

[Footnote 4: Probably Lord Henry Petty. See variant iii.]

[Footnote 5: Scale's publication on Greek Metres displays considerable talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is not remarkable for accuracy. ('An Analysis of the Greek Metres; for the use of students at the University of Cambridge'. By John Barlow Seale (1764), 8vo. A fifth edition was issued in 1807.)]

[Footnote 6. The Latin of the schools is of the 'canine species', and not very intelligible.]

[Footnote 7: The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right-angled triangle.]

[Footnote 8: On a saint's day the students wear surplices in chapel.]

[Footnote i: 'And place it'. [4to]]

[Footnote ii: 'The price of hireling'. [4to]]

[Footnote iii: 'Who canvass now'. [4to]]

[Footnote iv:

'One on his power and place depends,
The other on--the Lord knows what!
Each to some eloquence pretends,
But neither will convince by that.

The first, indeed, may not demur;
Fellows are sage reflecting men,
And know'.

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

[Footnote v:

'And therefore smiles at his'.

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

[Footnote vi:

'Now from Corruption's shameless scene'.

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

[Footnote vii: 'And view unseen'. [4to]]

[Footnote viii: 'and early rises'. [4to]]

[Footnote ix: 'And all the' [4to]]

[Footnote x: 'And agitates'. [4to]]

[Footnote xi: 'And robs himself of many a meal'. [4to]]

[Footnote xii:

'But harmless are these occupations
Which'.

[4to]]

[Footnote xiii:

'When Drunkenness and dice unite.
And every sense'.

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

[Footnote xiv: 'And exultation'. [4to]]

[Footnote xv: 'But he'. [4to]]

[Footnote xvi: 'But mercy'. [4to]]

[Footnote xvii: 'But had they sung'. [4to]]

[Footnote xviii:

'But if I write much longer now'.

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

TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. [1]

Your pardon, my friend,
If my rhymes did offend,
Your pardon, a thousand times o'er;
From friendship I strove,
Your pangs to remove,
But, I swear, I will do so no more.

Since your _beautiful_ maid,
Your flame has repaid,
No more I your folly regret;
She's now most divine,
And I bow at the shrine,
Of this quickly reformèd coquette.

Yet still, I must own, [i]
I should never have known,
From _your verses_, what else she deserv'd;
Your pain seem'd so great,
I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd.

Since the balm-breathing kiss [ii]
Of this magical Miss,
Can such wonderful transports produce; [iii]
Since the _"world you forget,
When your lips once have met,"_
My counsel will get but abuse.

You say, "When I rove,"
"I know nothing of love;"
Tis true, I am given to range;
If I rightly remember,
_I've lov'd_ a good number; [iv]
Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.

I will not advance, [v]
By the rules of romance,
To humour a whimsical fair;
Though a smile may delight,
Yet a _frown_ will _affright,_ [vi]
Or drive me to dreadful despair.

While my blood is thus warm,
I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonists' school;
Of this I am sure,
Was my Passion so pure,
Thy _Mistress_ would think me a fool. [vii]

8 [viii]

And if I should shun,
Every _woman_ for _one,_
Whose _image_ must fill my whole breast;
Whom I must _prefer,_
And _sigh_ but for _her,_
What an _insult_ 'twould be to the _rest!_

Now Strephon, good-bye;
I cannot deny,
Your _passion_ appears most _absurd;_
Such _love_ as you plead,
Is _pure_ love, indeed,
For it _only_ consists in the _word_.

[Footnote 1: The letters "J. M. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions', p. 17 (British Museum).]

[Footnote i: 'But still'. [4to]]

[Footnote ii: 'But since the chaste kiss.' [4to]]

[Footnote iii: 'Such wonderful.' [4to]]

[Footnote iv:

'I've kiss'd a good number.
But-----'

[4to]]

[Footnote v:

'I ne'er will advance.'

[4to]]

[Footnote vi:

'Yet a frown won't affright.'

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

[Footnote vii:

'My mistress must think me.'

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

[Footnote viii:

'Though the kisses are sweet,
Which voluptuously meet,
Of kissing I ne'er was so fond,
As to make me forget,
Though our lips oft have met,
That still there was something beyond.'

[4to]

THE CORNELIAN. [1]

No specious splendour of this stone
Endears it to my memory ever;
With lustre _only once_ it shone,
And blushes modest as the giver. [i]

Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties,
Have, for my weakness, oft reprov'd me;
Yet still the simple gift I prize,
For I am sure, the giver lov'd me.

He offer'd it with downcast look,
As _fearful_ that I might refuse it;
I told him, when the gift I took,
My _only fear_ should be, to lose it.

This pledge attentively I view'd,
And _sparkling_ as I held it near,
Methought one drop the stone bedew'd,
And, ever since, _I've lov'd a tear._

Still, to adorn his humble youth,
Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield;
But he, who seeks the flowers of truth,
Must quit the garden, for the field.

'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth,
Which beauty shews, and sheds perfume;
The flowers, which yield the most of both,
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.

Had Fortune aided Nature's care,
For once forgetting to be blind,
_His_ would have been an ample share,
If well proportioned to his mind.

But had the Goddess clearly seen,
His form had fix'd her fickle breast;
_Her_ countless hoards would _his_ have been,
And none remain'd to give the rest.

[Footnote 1: The cornelian was a present from his friend Edleston, a Cambridge chorister, afterwards a clerk in a mercantile house in London. Edleston died of consumption, May 11, 1811. (See letter from Byron to Miss Pigot, October 28, 1811.) Their acquaintance began by Byron saving him from drowning. (MS. note by the Rev. W. Harness.)]

[Footnote i: 'But blushes modest'. [4to]]

TO M----[i]

Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine:
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
_Howe'er_ those orbs _may_ wildly beam,
We must _admire,_ but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem.

When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd that, too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own.

Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk,
Within those once celestial eyes.

These might the boldest Sylph appall,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all;
But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

'Tis said that Berenice's hair,
In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
But they would ne'er permit _thee_ there,
_Thou_ wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
E'en suns, which systems now controul,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. [1]

Friday, November 7, 1806

[Footnote 1:

"Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return."

Shakespeare.]

[Footnote i: 'To A----'. [4to] ]

LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.[1]

[As the author was discharging his Pistols in a Garden, Two Ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a Bullet hissing near them, to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning.] [2]

Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms [i]
And hurtling o'er [3] thy lovely head,
Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.

Surely some envious Demon's force,
Vex'd to behold such beauty here,
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.

Yes! in that nearly fatal hour,
The ball obey'd some hell-born guide;
But Heaven, with interposing power,
In pity turn'd the death aside.

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear
Upon that thrilling bosom fell;
Which _I_, th' unconscious cause of fear,
Extracted from its glistening cell;--

Say, what dire penance can atone
For such an outrage, done to thee?
Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,
What punishment wilt thou decree?

Might I perform the Judge's part,
The sentence I should scarce deplore;
It only would restore a heart,
Which but belong'd to _thee_ before.

The least atonement I can make
Is to become no longer free;
Henceforth, I breathe but for thy sake,
Thou shalt be _all in all_ to me.

But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject
Such expiation of my guilt;
Come then--some other mode elect?
Let it be death--or what thou wilt.

Choose, then, relentless! and I swear
Nought shall thy dread decree prevent;
Yet hold--one little word forbear!
Let it be aught but banishment.

[Footnote 1: This title first appeared in "Contents" to 'P. on V. Occasions'.]

[Footnote 2: The occurrence took place at Southwell, and the beautiful lady to whom the lines were addressed was Miss Houson, who is also commemorated in the verses "To a Vain Lady" and "To Anne." She was the daughter of the Rev. Henry Houson of Southwell, and married the Rev. Luke Jackson. She died on Christmas Day, 1821, and her monument may be seen in Hucknall Torkard Church.]

[Footnote 3: This word is used by Gray in his poem to the Fatal Sisters:--

"Iron-sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darken'd air."]

[Footnote i: 'near thy charms'. [4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

AD LESBIAM.

Equal to Jove that youth must be--
_Greater_ than Jove he seems to me--
Who, free from Jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserv'd for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS, BY DOMITIUS MARSUS.

He who, sublime, in epic numbers roll'd,
And he who struck the softer lyre of Love,
By Death's _unequal_[1] hand alike controul'd,
Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!

[Footnote: 1. The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus at his decease.]

IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.

SULPICIA AD CERINTHUM (LIB. QUART.).

Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell disease [i]
Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please?
Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
That I might live for Love and you again;
But, now, I scarcely shall bewail my fate:
By Death alone I can avoid your hate.

[Footnote i:

'does this fell disease'.

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

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

LUGETE VENERES CUPIDINESQUE (CARM. III.) [i]

Ye Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,
Whom dearer than her eyes she lov'd: [ii]
For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm he knew,
But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd:

And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
He chirrup'd oft, and, free from care, [iii]
Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn, [iv]
From whence he never can return,
His death, and Lesbia's grief I mourn,
Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain.

Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave!
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,
For thou hast ta'en the bird away:
From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow,
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow;
Thou art the cause of all her woe,
Receptacle of life's decay.

[Footnote i:

_Luctus De Morte Passeris_.

[4to. _P. on V. Occasions_.] ]

[Footnote ii: _Which dearer_. [4to] ]

[Footnote iii: _But chirrup'd_. [4to] ]

[Footnote iv: _But now he's pass'd_. [4to] ]

IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. [1]

TO ELLEN. [i]

Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire;
Still would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;
Nor then my soul should sated be,
Still would I kiss and cling to thee:
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever,
Still would we kiss and kiss for ever;
E'en though the numbers did exceed [ii]
The yellow harvest's countless seed;
To part would be a vain endeavour:
Could I desist?--ah! never--never.

November 16, 1806.

[Footnote 1: From a note in Byron's copy of Catullus (now in the possession of Mr. Murray), it is evident that these lines are based on Carm. xlviii., 'Mellitos oculos tuos, Juventi'.]

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

[Footnote ii: 'E'en though the number'. [4to. 'Three first Editions'.]]

* * * * * * * *

POEMS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS

TO M. S. G.

Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
Alas! it were--unhallow'd bliss.

Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
How could I dwell upon its snows!
Yet, is the daring wish represt,
For that,--would banish its repose.

A glance from thy soul-searching eye
Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
Yet, I conceal my love,--and why?
I would not force a painful tear.

I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
And shall I plead my passion now,
To make thy bosom's heaven a hell?

No! for thou never canst be mine,
United by the priest's decree:
By any ties but those divine,
Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be.

Then let the secret fire consume,
Let it consume, thou shalt not know:
With joy I court a certain doom,
Rather than spread its guilty glow.

I will not ease my tortur'd heart,
By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine;
Rather than such a sting impart,
Each thought presumptuous I resign.

Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave
More than I here shall dare to tell;
Thy innocence and mine to save,--
I bid thee now a last farewell.

Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair
And hope no more thy soft embrace;
Which to obtain, my soul would dare,
All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.

10.

At least from guilt shall thou be free,
No matron shall thy shame reprove;
Though cureless pangs may prey on me,
No martyr shall thou be to love.

STANZAS TO A LADY, WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOËNS. [1]

This votive pledge of fond esteem,
Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou'lt prize;
It sings of Love's enchanting dream,
A theme we never can despise.

Who blames it but the envious fool,
The old and disappointed maid?
Or pupil of the prudish school,
In single sorrow doom'd to fade?

Then read, dear Girl! with feeling read,
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
To thee, in vain, I shall not plead
In pity for the Poet's woes.

He was, in sooth, a genuine Bard;
His was no faint, fictitious flame:
Like his, may Love be thy reward,
But not thy hapless fate the same.

[Footnote: 1. Lord Strangford's 'Poems from the Portuguese by Luis de Camoëns' and "Little's" Poems are mentioned by Moore as having been Byron's favourite study at this time ('Life', P--39).]

TO M. S. G. [1]

When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive;
Extend not your anger to sleep;
For in visions alone your affection can live,--
I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast,
Shed o'er me your languor benign;
Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,
Mortality's emblem is given;
To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,
If this be a foretaste of Heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet Lady, unbend your soft brow,
Nor deem me too happy in this;
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,
Thus doom'd, but to gaze upon bliss.

Though in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps you may smile,
Oh! think not my penance deficient!
When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,
To awake, will be torture sufficient.

[Footnote 1: "C. G. B. to E. P." 'MS. Newstead'.]

TRANSLATION FROM HORACE.

Justum et tenacem propositi virum.

HOR. 'Odes', iii. 3. I.

The man of firm and noble soul
No factious clamours can controul;
No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow
Can swerve him from his just intent:
Gales the warring waves which plough,
By Auster on the billows spent,
To curb the Adriatic main,
Would awe his fix'd determined mind in vain.

Aye, and the red right arm of Jove,
Hurtling his lightnings from above,
With all his terrors there unfurl'd,
He would, unmov'd, unaw'd, behold;
The flames of an expiring world,
Again in crashing chaos roll'd,
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd,
Might light his glorious funeral pile:
Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile.

THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE.

[Greek:

Ha barbitos de chordais
Er_ota mounon aechei. [1]

ANACREON ['Ode' 1].

Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove; [i]
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow, [ii]
Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, [iii]
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse,
Or the Nine be dispos'd from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love. [iv]

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes, [v]
Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams; [vi]
What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth, [vii]
From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past--
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove--
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.

December 23, 1806.

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

[Footnote i:

'Moriah [A] those air dreams and types has o'er wove,
['MS. Newstead'.]
'Those tissues of fancy Moriah has wove,

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

[Sub-Footnote A: Moriah is the "Goddess of Folly."]

[Footnote ii:

'Ye rhymers, who sing as if seated on snow.--'

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

[Footnote iii:

'With what blest inspiration.--'

['MS. P. on V. Occasions'.] ]

[Footnote iv:

'Which glows with delight at'.

['MS'.]]

[Footnote v:

'Your shepherds, your pipes'.

['MS. P. on V. Occasions'.]]

[Footnote vi:

'Arcadia yields but a legion of dreams'.

['MS'.]

[Footnote vii:

'that man from his birth'.

['MS. P. on V. Occasions'.]

CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. [1]

"I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me."

'Macbeth' [2]

["That were most precious to me."

'Macbeth', act iv, sc. 3.]

When slow Disease, with all her host of Pains, [i]
Chills the warm tide, which flows along the veins;
When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring;
Not to the aching frame alone confin'd,
Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe,
Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow,
With Resignation wage relentless strife,
While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life. 10
Yet less the pang when, through the tedious hour,
Remembrance sheds around her genial power,
Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given,
When Love was bliss, and Beauty form'd our heaven;
Or, dear to youth, pourtrays each childish scene,
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.
As when, through clouds that pour the summer storm,
The orb of day unveils his distant form,
Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain
And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain; 20
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams,
The Sun of Memory, glowing through my dreams,
Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze,
To scenes far distant points his paler rays,
Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,
The past confounding with the present day.

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,
Which still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought;
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields,
And roams romantic o'er her airy fields. 30
Scenes of my youth, develop'd, crowd to view,
To which I long have bade a last adieu!
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes;
Friends lost to me, for aye, except in dreams;
Some, who in marble prematurely sleep,
Whose forms I now remember, but to weep;
Some, who yet urge the same scholastic course
Of early science, future fame the source;
Who, still contending in the studious race,
In quick rotation, fill the senior place! 40
These, with a thousand visions, now unite,
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight. [3]

IDA! blest spot, where Science holds her reign,
How joyous, once, I join'd thy youthful train!
Bright, in idea, gleams thy lofty spire,
Again, I mingle with thy playful quire;
Our tricks of mischief, [4] every childish game,
Unchang'd by time or distance, seem the same;
Through winding paths, along the glade I trace
The social smile of every welcome face; 50
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy or woe,
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe,
Our feuds dissolv'd, but not my friendship past,--
I bless the former, and forgive the last.
Hours of my youth! when, nurtur'd in my breast,
To Love a stranger, Friendship made me blest,--
Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth,
When every artless bosom throbs with truth;
Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign,
And check each impulse with prudential rein; 60
When, all we feel, our honest souls disclose,
In love to friends, in open hate to foes;
No varnish'd tales the lips of youth repeat,
No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit;
Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years,
Matured by age, the garb of Prudence wears: [ii]
When, now, the Boy is ripen'd into Man,
His careful Sire chalks forth some wary plan;
Instructs his Son from Candour's path to shrink,
Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think; 70
Still to assent, and never to deny--
A patron's praise can well reward the lie:
And who, when Fortune's warning voice is heard,
Would lose his opening prospects for a word?
Although, against that word, his heart rebel,
And Truth, indignant, all his bosom swell.

Away with themes like this! not mine the task,
From flattering friends to tear the hateful mask;
Let keener bards delight in Satire's sting,
My Fancy soars not on Detraction's wing: 80
Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly blow,
To hurl Defiance on a secret Foe;
But when that foe, from feeling or from shame,
The cause unknown, yet still to me the same,
Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance, retir'd,
With this submission all her rage expired.
From dreaded pangs that feeble Foe to save,
She hush'd her young resentment, and forgave.
Or, if my Muse a Pedant's portrait drew,
POMPOSUS' [5] virtues are but known to few: 90
I never fear'd the young usurper's nod,
And he who wields must, sometimes, feel the rod.
If since on Granta's failings, known to all
Who share the converse of a college hall,
She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain,
'Tis past, and thus she will not sin again:
Soon must her early song for ever cease,
And, all may rail, when I shall rest in peace.

Here, first remember'd be the joyous band,
Who hail'd me chief, [6] obedient to command; 100
Who join'd with me, in every boyish sport,
Their first adviser, and their last resort;
Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant's frown, [iii]
Or all the sable glories of his gown; [iv]
Who, thus, transplanted from his father's school,
Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule--
Succeeded him, whom all unite to praise,
The dear preceptor of my early days,
PROBUS, [7] the pride of science, and the boast--
To IDA now, alas! for ever lost! 110
With him, for years, we search'd the classic page, [v]
And fear'd the Master, though we lov'd the Sage:
Retir'd at last, his small yet peaceful seat
From learning's labour is the blest retreat.
POMPOSUS fills his magisterial chair;
POMPOSUS governs,--but, my Muse, forbear:
Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot, [vi]
His name and precepts be alike forgot;
No more his mention shall my verse degrade,--
To him my tribute is already paid. [8] 120

High, through those elms with hoary branches crown'd [9]
Fair IDA'S bower adorns the landscape round;
There Science, from her favour'd seat, surveys
The vale where rural Nature claims her praise;
To her awhile resigns her youthful train,
Who move in joy, and dance along the plain;
In scatter'd groups, each favour'd haunt pursue,
Repeat old pastimes, and discover new;
Flush'd with his rays, beneath the noontide Sun,
In rival bands, between the wickets run, 130
Drive o'er the sward the ball with active force,
Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course.
But these with slower steps direct their way,
Where Brent's cool waves in limpid currents stray,
While yonder few search out some green retreat,
And arbours shade them from the summer heat:
Others, again, a pert and lively crew,
Some rough and thoughtless stranger plac'd in view,
With frolic quaint their antic jests expose,
And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes; 140
Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray
Tradition treasures for a future day:
"'Twas here the gather'd swains for vengeance fought,
And here we earn'd the conquest dearly bought:
Here have we fled before superior might,
And here renew'd the wild tumultuous fight."
While thus our souls with early passions swell,
In lingering tones resounds the distant bell;
Th' allotted hour of daily sport is o'er,
And Learning beckons from her temple's door. 150
No splendid tablets grace her simple hall,
But ruder records fill the dusky wall:
There, deeply carv'd, behold! each Tyro's name
Secures its owner's academic fame;
Here mingling view the names of Sire and Son,
The one long grav'd, the other just begun:
These shall survive alike when Son and Sire,
Beneath one common stroke of fate expire; [10]
Perhaps, their last memorial these alone,
Denied, in death, a monumental stone, 160
Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave
The sighing weeds, that hide their nameless grave.
And, here, my name, and many an early friend's,
Along the wall in lengthen'd line extends.
Though, still, our deeds amuse the youthful race,
Who tread our steps, and fill our former place,
Who young obeyed their lords in silent awe,
Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law;
And now, in turn, possess the reins of power,
To rule, the little Tyrants of an hour; 170
Though sometimes, with the Tales of ancient day,
They pass the dreary Winter's eve away;
"And, thus, our former rulers stemm'd the tide,
And, thus, they dealt the combat, side by side;
Just in this place, the mouldering walls they scaled,
Nor bolts, nor bars, against their strength avail'd;
Here PROBUS came, the rising fray to quell,
And, here, he falter'd forth his last farewell;
And, here, one night abroad they dared to roam,
While bold POMPOSUS bravely staid at home;" 180
While thus they speak, the hour must soon arrive,
When names of these, like ours, alone survive:
Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm
The faint remembrance of our fairy realm.

Dear honest race! though now we meet no more,
One last long look on what we were before--
Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu--
Drew tears from eyes unus'd to weep with you.
Through splendid circles, Fashion's gaudy world,
Where Folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd, 190
I plung'd to drown in noise my fond regret,
And all I sought or hop'd was to forget:
Vain wish! if, chance, some well-remember'd face,
Some old companion of my early race,
Advanc'd to claim his friend with honest joy,
My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy;
The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around,
Were quite forgotten when my friend was found;
The smiles of Beauty, (for, alas! I've known
What 'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne;) 200
The smiles of Beauty, though those smiles were dear,
Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near:
My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise,
The woods of IDA danc'd before my eyes;
I saw the sprightly wand'rers pour along,
I saw, and join'd again the joyous throng;
Panting, again I trac'd her lofty grove,
And Friendship's feelings triumph'd over Love.

Yet, why should I alone with such delight
Retrace the circuit of my former flight? 210
Is there no cause beyond the common claim,
Endear'd to all in childhood's very name?
Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here,
Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear
To one, who thus for kindred hearts must roam,
And seek abroad, the love denied at home.
Those hearts, dear IDA, have I found in thee,
A home, a world, a paradise to me.
Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share
The tender guidance of a Father's care; 220
Can Rank, or e'en a Guardian's name supply
The love, which glistens in a Father's eye?
For this, can Wealth, or Title's sound atone,
Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own?
What Brother springs a Brother's love to seek?
What Sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek?
For me, how dull the vacant moments rise,
To no fond bosom link'd by kindred ties!
Oft, in the progress of some fleeting dream,
Fraternal smiles, collected round me seem; 230
While still the visions to my heart are prest,
The voice of Love will murmur in my rest:
I hear--I wake--and in the sound rejoice!
I hear again,--but, ah! no Brother's voice.
A Hermit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way;
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,
I cannot call one single blossom mine:
What then remains? in solitude to groan,
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone? 240
Thus, must I cling to some endearing hand,
And none more dear, than IDA'S social band.

Alonzo! [11] best and dearest of my friends, [vii]
Thy name ennobles him, who thus commends:
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise;
The praise is his, who now that tribute pays.
Oh! in the promise of thy early youth,
If Hope anticipate the words of Truth!
Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name,
To build his own, upon thy deathless fame: [viii] 250
Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list
Of those with whom I lived supremely blest;
Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore,
Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more;
Yet, when Confinement's lingering hour was done,
Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one:
Together we impell'd the flying ball,
Together waited in our tutor's hall;
Together join'd in cricket's manly toil,
Or shar'd the produce of the river's spoil; 260
Or plunging from the green declining shore,
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore: [ix]
In every element, unchang'd, the same,
All, all that brothers should be, but the name.

Nor, yet, are you forgot, my jocund Boy!
DAVUS, [12] the harbinger of childish joy;
For ever foremost in the ranks of fun,
The laughing herald of the harmless pun;
Yet, with a breast of such materials made,
Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid; 270
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel
In Danger's path, though not untaught to feel.
Still, I remember, in the factious strife,
The rustic's musket aim'd against my life: [13]
High pois'd in air the massy weapon hung,
A cry of horror burst from every tongue:
Whilst I, in combat with another foe,
Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow;
Your arm, brave Boy, arrested his career--
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear; 280
Disarm'd, and baffled by your conquering hand,
The grovelling Savage roll'd upon the sand:
An act like this, can simple thanks repay? [x]
Or all the labours of a grateful lay?
Oh no! whene'er my breast forgets the deed,
That instant, DAVUS, it deserves to bleed.

LYCUS! [14] on me thy claims are justly great:
Thy milder virtues could my Muse relate,
To thee, alone, unrivall'd, would belong
The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song. [xi] 290
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit,
A Spartan firmness, with Athenian wit:
Though yet, in embryo, these perfections shine,
LYCUS! thy father's fame [15] will soon be thine.
Where Learning nurtures the superior mind,
What may we hope, from genius thus refin'd;
When Time, at length, matures thy growing years,
How wilt thou tower, above thy fellow peers!
Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free,
With Honour's soul, united beam in thee. 300

Shall fair EURYALUS,[16] pass by unsung?
From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung:
What, though one sad dissension bade us part,
That name is yet embalm'd within my heart,
Yet, at the mention, does that heart rebound,
And palpitate, responsive to the sound;
Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will:
We once were friends,--I'll think, we are so still.
A form unmatch'd in Nature's partial mould,
A heart untainted, we, in thee, behold: 310
Yet, not the Senate's thunder thou shall wield,
Nor seek for glory, in the tented field:
To minds of ruder texture, these be given--
Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven.
Haply, in polish'd courts might be thy seat,
But, that thy tongue could never forge deceit:
The courtier's supple bow, and sneering smile,
The flow of compliment, the slippery wile,
Would make that breast, with indignation, burn,
And, all the glittering snares, to tempt thee, spurn. 320
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate;
Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate;
The world admire thee, and thy friends adore;--
Ambition's slave, alone, would toil for more. [xii]

Now last, but nearest, of the social band,
See honest, open, generous CLEON [17] stand;
With scarce one speck, to cloud the pleasing scene,
No vice degrades that purest soul serene.
On the same day, our studious race begun,
On the same day, our studious race was run; 330
Thus, side by side, we pass'd our first career,
Thus, side by side, we strove for many a year:
At last, concluded our scholastic life,
We neither conquer'd in the classic strife:
As Speakers, [18] each supports an equal name, [xiii]
And crowds allow to both a partial fame:
To soothe a youthful Rival's early pride,
Though Cleon's candour would the palm divide,
Yet Candour's self compels me now to own,
Justice awards it to my Friend alone. 340

Oh! Friends regretted, Scenes for ever dear,
Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear!
Drooping, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's urn,
To trace the hours, which never can return;
Yet, with the retrospection loves to dwell, [xiv]
And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell!
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind,
As infant laurels round my head were twin'd;
When PROBUS' praise repaid my lyric song,
Or plac'd me higher in the studious throng; 350
Or when my first harangue receiv'd applause, [19]
His sage instruction the primeval cause,
What gratitude, to him, my soul possest,
While hope of dawning honours fill'd my breast! [xv]
For all my humble fame, to him alone,
The praise is due, who made that fame my own.
Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays,
These young effusions of my early days,
To him my Muse her noblest strain would give,
The song might perish, but the theme might live. [xvi] 360
Yet, why for him the needless verse essay?
His honour'd name requires no vain display:
By every son of grateful IDA blest,
It finds an echo in each youthful breast;
A fame beyond the glories of the proud,
Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd.

IDA! not yet exhausted is the theme,
Nor clos'd the progress of my youthful dream.
How many a friend deserves the grateful strain!
What scenes of childhood still unsung remain! 370
Yet let me hush this echo of the past,
This parting song, the dearest and the last;
And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy,
To me a silent and a sweet employ,
While, future hope and fear alike unknown,
I think with pleasure on the past alone;
Yes, to the past alone, my heart confine,
And chase the phantom of what once was mine.

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The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 1. PoetryChapter I (2)

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