Chapter I: WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILD. i (2)

"To an oak in the garden of Newstead Abbey, planted by the author in
the 9th year of [his] age; this tree at his last visit was in a state
of decay, though perhaps not irrecoverable."

On arriving at Newstead, in 1798, Byron, then in his eleventh year, planted an oak, and cherished the fancy, that as the tree flourished so should he. On revisiting the abbey, he found the oak choked up by weeds and almost destroyed;--hence these lines. Shortly after Colonel Wildman took possession, he said to a servant,

"Here is a fine young oak; but it must be cut down, as it grows in an
improper place."

"I hope not, sir, "replied the man, "for it's the one that my lord was
so fond of, because he set it himself."

_Life_, p. 50, note.]

[Footnote i:

_For ages may shine_.

[_MS. Newstead_]]

ON REVISITING HARROW. [1]

1.

Here once engaged the stranger's view
Young Friendship's record simply trac'd;
Few were her words,--but yet, though few,
Resentment's hand the line defac'd.

2.

Deeply she cut--but not eras'd--
The characters were still so plain,
That Friendship once return'd, and gaz'd,--
Till Memory hail'd the words again.

3.

Repentance plac'd them as before;
Forgiveness join'd her gentle name;
So fair the inscription seem'd once more,
That Friendship thought it still the same.

4.

Thus might the Record now have been;
But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour,
Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between,
And blotted out the line for ever.

September, 1807.

[First published in Moore's 'Life and Letters, etc.', 1830, i. 102.]

[Footnote 1:

"Some years ago, when at Harrow, a friend of the author engraved on a
particular spot the names of both, with a few additional words, as a
memorial. Afterwards, on receiving some real or imaginary injury, the
author destroyed the frail record before he left Harrow. On revisiting
the place in 1807, he wrote under it these stanzas."

Moore's 'Life, etc.', i. 102.]]

TO MY SON. [1]

1.

Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue
Bright as thy mother's in their hue;
Those rosy lips, whose dimples play
And smile to steal the heart away,
Recall a scene of former joy,
And touch thy father's heart, my Boy!

2.

And thou canst lisp a father's name--
Ah, William, were thine own the same,--
No self-reproach--but, let me cease--
My care for thee shall purchase peace;
Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy,
And pardon all the past, my Boy!

3.

Her lowly grave the turf has prest,
And thou hast known a stranger's breast;
Derision sneers upon thy birth,
And yields thee scarce a name on earth;
Yet shall not these one hope destroy,--
A Father's heart is thine, my Boy!

4.

Why, let the world unfeeling frown,
Must I fond Nature's claims disown?
Ah, no--though moralists reprove,
I hail thee, dearest child of Love,
Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy--
A Father guards thy birth, my Boy!

5.

Oh,'twill be sweet in thee to trace,
Ere Age has wrinkled o'er my face,
Ere half my glass of life is run,
At once a brother and a son;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my Boy!

6.

Although so young thy heedless sire,
Youth will not damp parental fire;
And, wert thou still less dear to me,
While Helen's form revives in thee,
The breast, which beat to former joy,
Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy!

1807.

[First published in Moore's 'Life and Letters, etc.', 1830, i. 104.]

[Footnote 1: For a reminiscence of what was, possibly, an actual event, see 'Don Juan', canto xvi. st. 61. He told Lady Byron that he had two natural children, whom he should provide for.]

QUERIES TO CASUISTS. [1]

The Moralists tell us that Loving is Sinning,
And always are prating about and about it,
But as Love of Existence itself's the beginning,
Say, what would Existence itself be without it?

They argue the point with much furious Invective,
Though perhaps 'twere no difficult task to confute it;
But if Venus and Hymen should once prove defective,
Pray who would there be to defend or dispute it?

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. (watermark 1805) at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]

SONG.[1]

1.

Breeze of the night in gentler sighs
More softly murmur o'er the pillow;
For Slumber seals my Fanny's eyes,
And Peace must never shun her pillow.

2.

Or breathe those sweet Æolian strains
Stolen from celestial spheres above,
To charm her ear while some remains,
And soothe her soul to dreams of love.

3.

But Breeze of night again forbear,
In softest murmurs only sigh:
Let not a Zephyr's pinion dare
To lift those auburn locks on high.

4.

Chill is thy Breath, thou breeze of night!
Oh! ruffle not those lids of Snow;
For only Morning's cheering light
May wake the beam that lurks below.

5.

Blest be that lip and azure eye!
Sweet Fanny, hallowed be thy Sleep!
Those lips shall never vent a sigh,
Those eyes may never wake to weep.

February 23rd, 1808.

[Footnote 1: From the MS. in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.]

TO HARRIET. [1]

1.

Harriet! to see such Circumspection, [2]
In Ladies I have no objection
Concerning what they read;
An ancient Maid's a sage adviser,
Like _her_, you will be much the wiser,
In word, as well as Deed.

2.

But Harriet, I don't wish to flatter,
And really think 't would make the matter
More perfect if not quite,
If other Ladies when they preach,
Would certain Damsels also teach
More cautiously to write.

[Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]

[Footnote 2: See the poem "To Marion," and 'note', p. 129. It would seem that J. T. Becher addressed some flattering lines to Byron with reference to a poem concerning Harriet Maltby, possibly the lines "To Marion." The following note was attached by Miss Pigot to these stanzas, which must have been written on another occasion:--

"I saw Lord B. was _flattered_ by John Becher's lines, as he read
'Apollo', etc., with a peculiar smile and emphasis; so out of _fun_,
to vex him a little, I said,

'_Apollo!_ He _should_ have said _Apollyon_.'

'Elizabeth! for Heaven's sake don't say so again! I don't
mind _you_ telling me so; but if any one _else_ got hold _of the
word_, I should never hear the end of it.'

So I laughed at him, and dropt it, for he was _red_ with agitation."]

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME. [i] [1]

1.

There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.

2.

And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,

3.

None, none hath sunk so deep as this--
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
But transient in thy breast alone.

4.

And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.

5.

Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain. [ii]

6.

Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shall be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.

June 10, 1808. [First published, 1809]

[Footnote 1: This copy of verses, with eight others, originally appeared in a volume published in 1809 by J. C. Hobhouse, under the title of _Imitations and Translations, From the Ancient and Modern Classics, Together with Original Poems never before published_. The MS. is in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.]

[Footnote i:

_Stanzas to the Same_.

[_Imit. and Transl._, p. 200.]]

[Footnote ii:

_The memory of that love again._

[MS. L.]]

AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? [i]

1.

And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so--
I would not give that bosom pain.

2.

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

3.

And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:
And for a while my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

4.

Oh lady! blessèd be that tear--
It falls for one who cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear [ii]
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

5.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.

6. [iii]

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so--
I would not give that bosom pain. [1]

Aug. 12, 1808. [First published, 1809.]

[Footnote 1: It was in one of Byron's fits of melancholy that the following verses were addressed to him by his friend John Cam Hobhouse:--

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE.

Hail! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame Inspires, and animates to deeds of fame; Who feel the noble wish before you die To raise the finger of each passer-by: Hail! may a future age admiring view A Falkland or a Clarendon in you. But as your blood with dangerous passion boils, Beware! and fly from Venus' silken toils: Ah! let the head protect the weaker heart, And Wisdom's Ægis turn on Beauty's dart.

* * * * *

But if 'tis fix'd that every lord must pair, And you and Newstead must not want an heir, Lose not your pains, and scour the country round, To find a treasure that can ne'er be found! No! take the first the town or court affords, Trick'd out to stock a market for the lords; By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall On one, though wicked, not the worst of all:

* * * * *

One though perhaps as any Maxwell free, Yet scarce a copy, Claribel, of thee; Not very ugly, and not very old, A little pert indeed, but not a scold; One that, in short, may help to lead a life Not farther much from comfort than from strife; And when she dies, and disappoints your fears, Shall leave some joys for your declining years.

But, as your early youth some time allows, Nor custom yet demands you for a spouse, Some hours of freedom may remain as yet, For one who laughs alike at love and debt: Then, why in haste? put off the evil day, And snatch at youthful comforts while you may! Pause! nor so soon the various bliss forego That single souls, and such alone, can know: Ah! why too early careless life resign, Your morning slumber, and your evening wine; Your loved companion, and his easy talk; Your Muse, invoked in every peaceful walk? What! can no more your scenes paternal please, Scenes sacred long to wise, unmated ease? The prospect lengthen'd o'er the distant down, Lakes, meadows, rising woods, and all your own? What! shall your Newstead, shall your cloister'd bowers, The high o'erhanging arch and trembling towers! Shall these, profaned with folly or with strife, An ever fond, or ever angry wife! Shall these no more confess a manly sway, But changeful woman's changing whims obey? Who may, perhaps, as varying humour calls, Contract your cloisters and o'erthrow your walls; Let Repton loose o'er all the ancient ground, Change round to square, and square convert to round; Root up the elms' and yews' too solemn gloom, And fill with shrubberies gay and green their room; Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre, Where gravel'd walks and flowers alternate glare; And quite transform, in every point complete, Your Gothic abbey to a country seat.

Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day, When you beneath the female yoke shall bend, And lose your _wit_, your _temper_, and your _friend_. [A]

Trin. Coll. Camb., 1808.]

[Sub-Footnote A: In his mother's copy of Hobhouse's volume, Byron has written with a pencil,

"_I have lost them all, and shall WED accordingly_. 1811. B."]

[Footnote i:

Stanzas.

[MS. L.]

To the Same.

[Imit. and Transl., p 202.]]

[Footnote ii:

For one whose life is torment here,
And only in the dust may sleep.

[MS. L.]]

[Footnote iii: The MS. inserts--

Lady I will not tell my tale
For it would rend thy melting heart;
'Twere pity sorrow should prevail
O'er one so gentle as thou art.

[MS. L.]]

REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT. [i]

1.

Remind me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till Time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

2.

Can I forget--canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,
How quick thy fluttering heart did move?
Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast so fair,
And lips, though silent, breathing love.

3.

When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,
As half reproach'd yet rais'd desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet,
As if in kisses to expire.

4.

And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.

5.

I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
In Rapture's wild reality.

6.

Then tell me not, remind me not, [ii]
Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore, [iii]
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless, as the mouldering stone
Which tells that we shall be no more.

Aug. 13, 1808. [First published, 1809.]

[Footnote i:

_A Love Song. To----.

[Imit. and Transl., p. 197.]

[Footnote ii:

_Remind me not, remind me not_.

[MS. L.] ]

[Footnote iii:

_Must still_.

[MS. L.] ]

TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. [i]

1.

Few years have pass'd since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And Childhood's gay sincerity
Preserved our feelings long the same. [ii]

2.

But now, like me, too well thou know'st [iii]
What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they lov'd at all. [iv]

3.

And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign, [v]
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estrang'd again. [vi]

4.

If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.

5.

As rolls the Ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow?

6.

It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceas'd to be a boy.

7.

And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious World's controul,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That World corrupts the noblest soul.

8.

Ah, joyous season! when the mind [1]
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When Thought ere spoke is unconfin'd,
And sparkles in the placid eye.

9.

Not so in Man's maturer years,
When Man himself is but a tool;
When Interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all must love and hate by rule.

10.

With fools in kindred vice the same, [vii]
We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.

11.

Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then 'scape from folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be?

12.

No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been;
Man and the World so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.

13.

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.

14.

Alas! whenever Folly calls
Where parasites and princes meet,
(For cherish'd first in royal halls,
The welcome vices kindly greet,)

15.

Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad
To join the vain and court the proud.

16.

There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,
That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.

17.

But say, what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours move,
To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?

18.

What friend for thee, howe'er inclin'd,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share?

19.

In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be seen;
No more so idly pass along;
Be something, any thing, but--mean.

August 20th, 1808. [First published, 1809.]

[Footnote 1: Stanzas 8-9 are not in the _MS_.]

[Footnote i:

'To Sir W. D., on his using the expression, "Soyes constant en
amitie."'

[MS. L.] ]

[Footnote ii:

'Twere well my friend if still with thee
Through every scene of joy and woe,
That thought could ever cherish'd be
As warm as it was wont to glow.

[MS. L] ]

[Footnote iii:

_And yet like me._

[MS. L.] ]

[Footnote iv:

_Forget they ever._

[MS. L. _Imit. and Transl_., p. 185.] ]

[Footnote v:

_So short._

[MS. L.] ]

[Footnote vi:

_...a day
Will send my friendship back again._

[MS. L.]

[Footnote vii:

_Each fool whose vices are the same
Whose faults with ours may blend._

[_MS. L._]]

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL. [1]

1.

Start not--nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

2.

I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee:
I died: let earth my bones resign;
Fill up--thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

3.

Better to hold the sparkling grape,
Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood;
And circle in the goblet's shape
The drink of Gods, than reptile's food.

4.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?

5.

Quaff while thou canst: another race,
When thou and thine, like me, are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.

6.

Why not? since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808.

[First published in the seventh edition of 'Childe Harold'.]

[Footnote 1: Byron gave Medwin the following account of this cup:--"The gardener in digging [discovered] a skull that had probably belonged to some jolly friar or monk of the abbey, about the time it was dis-monasteried. Observing it to be of giant size, and in a perfect state of preservation, a strange fancy seized me of having it set and mounted as a drinking cup. I accordingly sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish, and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshell."--Medwin's 'Conversations', 1824, p. 87.]

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY. [i] [1]

1.

Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.

2.

Thy husband's blest--and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot: [ii]
But let them pass--Oh! how my heart
Would hate him if he loved thee not!

3.

When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smil'd,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

4.

I kiss'd it,--and repress'd my sighs
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,
And they were all to love and me.

5. [iii]

Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I'll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.

6.

I deem'd that Time, I deem'd that Pride,
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all,--save hope,--the same.

7.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look;
But now to tremble were a crime--
We met,--and not a nerve was shook.

8.

I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there:
One only feeling couldst thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.

9.

Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake:
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart be still, or break.

November, 1808. [First published, 1809.]

[Footnote 1: These lines were written after dining at Annesley with Mr. and Mrs. Chaworth Musters. Their daughter, born 1806, and now Mrs. Hamond, of Westacre, Norfolk, is still (January, 1898) living.]

[Footnote i:

_To Mrs.----_[erased].

[_MS. L._]

_To-----_.

[_Imit. and Transl_. Hobhouse, 1809.] ]

[Footnote ii:

_Some pang to see my rival's lot._

[_MS. L._] ]

[Footnote iii: MS. L. inserts--

_Poor little pledge of mutual love,
I would not hurt a hair of thee,
Although thy birth should chance to prove
Thy parents' bliss--my misery._]

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. [1]

When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe
And storied urns record who rest below:
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth--
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While Man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive Heaven.
Oh Man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on--it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a Friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one,--and here he lies. [i]

Newstead Abbey, October 30, 1808. [First published, 1809.]

[Footnote 1: This monument is placed in the garden of Newstead. A prose inscription precedes the verses:--

"Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a Dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808."

Byron thus announced the death of his favourite to his friend Hodgson:--"Boatswain is dead!--he expired in a state of madness on the 18th after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last; never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. I have now lost everything except old Murray." In the will which the poet executed in 1811, he desired to be buried in the vault with his dog, and Joe Murray was to have the honour of making one of the party. When the poet was on his travels, a gentleman, to whom Murray showed the tomb, said, "Well, old boy, you will take your place here some twenty years hence." "I don't know that, sir," replied Joe; "if I was sure his lordship would come here I should like it well enough, but I should not like to lie alone with the dog."--'Life', pp. 73, 131.]

[Footnote i:

_I knew but one unchang'd--and here he lies.--

[_Imit. and Transl_., p. 191.] ]

TO A LADY, [1]

ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND IN THE SPRING. [i]

1.

When Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,
And bade him curse his future fate.

2.

But, wandering on through distant climes,
He learnt to bear his load of grief;
Just gave a sigh to other times,
And found in busier scenes relief.

3.

Thus, Lady! will it be with me, [ii]
And I must view thy charms no more;
For, while I linger near to thee,
I sigh for all I knew before.

4.

In flight I shall be surely wise,
Escaping from temptation's snare:
I cannot view my Paradise
Without the wish of dwelling there. [iii] [2]

December 2, 1808. [First published, 1809.]

[Footnote 1: Byron had written to his mother on November 2, 1808, announcing his intention of sailing for India in the following March. See 'Childe Harold', canto i. st. 3. See also Letter to Hodgson, Nov. 27, 1808.]

[Footnote 2: In an unpublished letter of Byron to----, dated within a few days of his final departure from Italy to Greece, in 1823, he writes:

"Miss Chaworth was two years older than myself. She married a man of
an ancient and respectable family, but her marriage was not a happier
one than my own. Her conduct, however, was irreproachable; but there
was not sympathy between their characters. I had not seen her for many
years when an occasion offered to me, January, 1814. I was upon the
point, with her consent, of paying her a visit, when my sister, who
has always had more influence over me than any one else, persuaded me
not to do it. 'For,' said she, 'if you go you will fall in love again,
and then there will be a scene; one step will lead to another, 'et
cela fera un éclat''."]

[Footnote i:

'The Farewell To a Lady.'

['Imit. and Transl.']

[Footnote ii:

'Thus Mary!' (Mrs. Musters).

['MS'.]

[Footnote iii:

'Without a wish to enter there.'

['Imit. and Transl'., p. 196.] ]

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. [i]

A SONG.

1.

Fill the goblet again! for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core;
Let us drink!--who would not?--since, through life's varied round,
In the goblet alone no deception is found.

2.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;
I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;
I have lov'd!--who has not?--but what heart can declare
That Pleasure existed while Passion was there?

3.

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,
And dreams that Affection can never take wing,
I had friends!--who has not?--but what tongue will avow,
That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?

4.

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,
Friendship shifts with the sunbeam--thou never canst change;
Thou grow'st old--who does not?--but on earth what appears,
Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?

5.

Yet if blest to the utmost that Love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,
We are jealous!--who's not?--thou hast no such alloy;
For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

6.

Then the season of youth and its vanities past,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;
There we find--do we not?--in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.

7.

When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth,
And Misery's triumph commenc'd over Mirth,
Hope was left,--was she not?--but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

8.

Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own:
We must die--who shall not?--May our sins be forgiven,
And Hebe shall never be idle in Heaven.

[First published, 1809.]

[Footnote i:

'Song'.

['Imit. and Transl'., p. 204.]

STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING ENGLAND. [i]

1.

Tis done--and shivering in the gale
The bark unfurls her snowy sail;
And whistling o'er the bending mast,
Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast;
And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one.

2.

But could I be what I have been,
And could I see what I have seen--
Could I repose upon the breast
Which once my warmest wishes blest--
I should not seek another zone,
Because I cannot love but one.

3.

'Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again:
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.

4.

As some lone bird, without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate;
I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face,
And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
Because I cannot love but one.

5.

And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false fair face,
I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one.

6.

The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
Where Friendship's or Love's softer glow
May smile in joy or soothe in woe;
But friend or leman I have none, [ii]
Because I cannot love but one.

7.

I go--but wheresoe'er I flee
There's not an eye will weep for me;
There's not a kind congenial heart,
Where I can claim the meanest part;
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
Wilt sigh, although I love but one.

8.

To think of every early scene,
Of what we are, and what we've been,
Would whelm some softer hearts with woe--
But mine, alas! has stood the blow;
Yet still beats on as it begun,
And never truly loves but one.

9.

And who that dear lov'd one may be,
Is not for vulgar eyes to see;
And why that early love was cross'd,
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most;
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one.

10.

I've tried another's fetters too,
With charms perchance as fair to view;
And I would fain have loved as well,
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for aught but one.

11.

'Twould soothe to take one lingering view,
And bless thee in my last adieu;
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For him that wanders o'er the deep;
His home, his hope, his youth are gone, [iii]
Yet still he loves, and loves but one. [iv]

1809. [First published, 1809.]

[Footnote i:

'To Mrs. Musters.'

['MS.']

'To----on Leaving England.'

['Imit. and Transl.', p. 227.]

[Footnote ii:

'But friend or lover I have none'.

['Imit. and Transl'., p. 229.]]

[Footnote iii:

'Though wheresoever my bark may run,
I love but thee, I love but one.'

['Imit. and Transl.', p. 230.]

'The land recedes his Bark is gone,
Yet still he loves and laves but one.'

[MS.]

[Footnote iv:

'Yet far away he loves but one.'

[MS.]

ENGLISH BARDS, AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS;

A SATIRE.

BY

LORD BYRON.

"I had rather be a kitten, and cry, mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers."

SHAKESPEARE.

"Such shameless Bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd Critics, too."

POPE.