It might be months, or years, or days — I kept no count, I took no note I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free; I asked not why, and recked not where; I learned to love despair. And thus when they appeared at last, And half I felt as they were come 360 370 380 Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell! 390 even I Regained my freedom with a sigh. STANZAS TO AUGUSTA These stanzas were written at the Villa Diodati, near Geneva, July, 1816, and form one of several poems addressed to the poet's halfsister, Augusta (Mrs. Leigh), who was true to her brother through all his career, and for whom he felt the warmest affection up to the very end of his life. This is but one among Byron's many autobiographical poems, the egotism of which is amply redeemed by the revelation of a rich and interesting personality. I HOUGH the day of my Destiny's over, THOU And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, And the Love which my Spirit hath painted II Then when Nature around me is smiling, I do not believe it beguiling, Because it reminds me of thine; And when winds are at war with the ocean, If their billows excite an emotion, III Though the rock of my last Hope is shivered, To Pain - it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me: They may crush, but they shall not contemn They may torture, but shall not subdue me 'Tis of Thee that I think - not of them. IV Though human, thou didst not deceive me, Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, V Yet I blame not the World, nor despise it, VI From the wreck of the past, which hath perished, Thus much I at least may recall, |