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To him the magic of their mysteries ;

For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend, To him the book of Night was open'd wide, And be avenged, or turn them into friend; And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd But thou in safe implacability, A marvel and a secret.-- Be it so.

Hadst nought to dread-in thy own weakness

shielded, IX. My dream is past; it had no further change.

And in my love, which hath but too much It was of a strange order, that the doom

yielded, Of these two creatures should be thus traced out

And spared, for thy sake, some I should not Almost like a reality-the one

spare ; To end in madness—both in misery.

And thus upon the world--trust in thy truth,
And the wild fame of my ungovern'd youth-

On things that were not, and on things that
LINES

areON HEARING THAT LADY BYRON WAS ILL.

Even upon such a basis hast thou built And thou wert sad-yet I was not with thee! A monument, whose cement hath been guilt!

And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near ; The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord, Methought that joy and health alone could be And hew'd down with an unsuspected sword,

Where I was not-and pain and sorrow here! Fame, peace, and hope--and all the better life And is it thus ?-it is as I foretold,

Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart, And shall be more so; for the mind recoils Might still have risen from out the grave of Upon itself, and the wreck'd heart lies cold,

strife, While heaviness collects the shatter'd spoils. And found a nobler duty than to part. It is not in the storm nor in the strife,

But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice, We feel benumb'd, and wish to be no more, Trafficking with them in a purpose cold, But in the after-silence on the shore,

For present anger, and for future gold-
When all is lost, except a little life.

And buying other's grief at any price.
I am too well avenged !—but 'twas my right! And thus once enter'd into crooked ways,

Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent The rly truth, which was thy proper praise, To be the Nemesis who should requite

Did not still walk beside thee--but at times, Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument. And with a breast unknowing its own crimes, Mercy is for the merciful!- if thou

Deceit, averments incompatible, Hast been of such, 'twill be accorded now. Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell Thy nights are banish'd from the realms of In Janus-spirits--the significant eye sleep!

Which learns to lie with silence-the pretext Yes! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel Of prudence, with advantages annex'd-A hollow agony which will not heal,

The acquiescence in all things which tend, For thou art pillow'd on a curse too deep; No matter how, to the desired endThou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap All found a place in thy philosophy. The bitter harvest in a woe as real !

The means were worthy, and the end is wonI have had many foes, but none like thee; I would not do by thee as thou hast done!

THE LAMENT OF TASSO.

1817.

ADVERTISEMENT. At Ferrara, in the Library, are preserved the original MSS. of Tasso's Gierusalemme and or Guarini's Pastor Fido, with letters of Tasso, one from Titian to Ariosto, and the inkstand and chair, the tomb and the house, of the latter. But as misfortune has a greater interest for pos. terity, and little or nonc for the contemporary, the cell where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St Anna attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or the monument of Ariostomat least it had this effect on me. There are two inscriptions, one on the outer gate, the second over the cell itself, inviting unnecessarily the wonder and the indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is much decayed and depopulated: the castle still exists entire ; and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon. I.

And tasteless food, which I have eat alone Long years! - It tries the thrilling frame to bear, Till its unsocial bitterness is gone ; And eagle-spirit of a child of Song-

And I can banquet like a beast of prey, Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong ; Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave Imputed madness, prison'd solitude,

Which is my lair, and it may be-my grave. And the mind's canker in its savage mood, All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear, When the impatient thirst of light and air But must be borne. I stoop not to despair; Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate,

For I have battled with mine agony, Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade, And made me wings wherewith

to overfly Works through the throbbing eyeball to the The narrow circus of my dungeon wall, brain,

And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall; With a hot sense of heaviness and pain ; And revell’d among men and things divine, And bare, at once, Captivity display'd

And pour'd my spirit over Palestine Stands scoffing through the never-open'd gate, In honour of the sacred war for Him, Which nothing through its bars admits, save day, | The God who was on earth and is in heaven,

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kind;

For he has strengthen'd me in heart and limb. Many, but each divided by the wall,
That through this sufferance I might be for. Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods,
given,

While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's
I have
employ'd my penance to record

callHow Salem's shrine was won, and how adored. None ! save that One, the veriest wretch of all

Who was not made to be the mate of these,

Nor bound between Distraction and Disease.
But this is o'er-my pleasant task is done ;-
My long-sustaining friend of many years !

Feel I not wrcth with those who placed me here? ir í do blot thy final page with tears,

| Who have debased me in the minds of men, Know that my sorrows have wrung from me Debarring me the usage of my own,

Blighting my life in best of its career,
But thou, my young creation! my soul's child! Branding my thoughts as things to shun and

fear?
Which ever playing round me came and smiled,
And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet sight, Would I not pay them back these pangs again.
Thou too art gone-and so is my delight:

And teach them inward Sorrow's stifled groan
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed

The struggle to be calm, and cold distress?

Which undermines our stoical success?
With this last bruise upon a broken reed.
Thou too art ended-what is left me now?

No!-still too proud to be vindictive-I
For I have anguish yet to bear—and how?

Have pardon'd princes' insults, and would die, I know not that --but in the innate force

Yes, Sister of my Sovereign! for thy sake

I weed all bitterness from out my breast,
Of my own spirit shall be found resource.
I have not sunk, for I had no remorse,

It hath no business where thou art a guest: Nor cause for such : they calld me mad-and Thy brother hates--but I can not detest; why?

Thou pitiest not-but I can not forsake. O Leonora, wilt not thou reply?

1 I was indeed delirious in my heart

Look on a love which knows not to despair,
To lift my love so lofty as thou art :

But all unquench'd is still my better part,
But still my frenzy was not of the mind; Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart,
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud,
Not less because I suffer it unbent.

Encompass'd with its dark and rolling shrcud,
That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind, Till struck-forth flies the all-ethereal dart!
Hath been the sin which shuts me from man- And thus at the collision of thy name

The vivid thought still flashes through my frame,
But let them go, or torture as they will, And for a moment all things as they were
My heart can multiply thine image still ; Flit by me: they are gone– I am the same.
Successful love may sate itself away,

And yet my love without ambition grew;
The wretched are the faithful ; 'tis their fate I knew thy state, my station, and I knew
To have all feeling save the one decay,

A Princess was no love-mate for a bard: And every passion into one dilate,

I told it not, I breathed it not; it was As rapid rivers into ocean pour;

Sufficient to itself, its own reward: And ours is fathomless, and hath no shore. And if my eyes reveal'd it, they, alas,

Were punish'd by the silentness of thine, Above me, hark! the long and maniac

And yet I did not venture to repine.

cry Of minds and bodies in captivity.

Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine, And hark! the lash and the increasing howl,

Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around And the half-inarticulate blasphemy!

Hallow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly grouni' There be some here with worse than frenzy foul,

Not for thou wert a princess, but that Love Some who do still goad on the o'erlabour'd mind,

Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd And dim the little light that's left behind

Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'dWith needless torture, as their tyrant will

Oh! not dismay'd—but awed, like One above; Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:

And in that sweet severity there was With these and with their victims am I class'd, A something which all softness did surpass: 'Mid sounds and sights like these long years I know not how-thy genius master'd minehave pass'd ;

My star stood still before thee: if it were 'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may Presumptuous thus to love without design, close :

That sad fatality hath cost me dear;
So let it be—for then I shall repose.

But thou art dearest still, and I should be
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me--but for thec.

The very love which lock'd me to my chain
I ha en patient-let me be so yet ;

Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the rest, I had forgotten half I would forget,

Though heavy, lent me vigour to susiain, But it revives-oh! would it were my lot

And look to thee with undivided breast,
To be forgetful as I am forgot !--

And foil the ingenuity of Pain.
Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell
In this vast lazar-house of many woes?
Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the It is no marvel- from my very birth
mind,

My soul was drunk with love, which did pero
Nor words a language, nor even men mankind;

vade Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows, And each is tortured in his separate hell.

And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth ;
For we are crowded in our solitudes-

Of objects all inanimate I made
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,

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IV.

VI.

IX.

And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail
Where I did lay me down within the shade Against the outworn creature they assail.
Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours, Why in this furnace is my spirit proved
Though I was chid for wandering; and the Wise Like steel in tempering fire 2 -- because I loved ?
Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said Because I loved what not to love, and see,
Of such materials wretched men were made, Was more or less than mortal, and than me
And such a truant boy would end in woe,
And that the only lesson was a blow.
And then they smote me, and I did not weep, I once was quick in feeling--that is o'er:
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd
Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again My brain against these bars, as the sun flash'd
The visions which arise without a sleep, In mockery through them: If I bear and bore
And with my years my soul began to pant The much I have recounted, and the more
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain; Which hath no words-'tis that I would not die,
And the whole heart exhaled into One Want, And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
But undefined and wandering, till the day Which snared me here, and with the brand of
I found the thing I sought-and that was thee; shame
And then I lost my being, all to be

Stamp Madness deep into my memory, Absorb'd in thine- the world was pass'd away, And woo Compassion to a blighted name, Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.

No-it shall be immortal ! and I make
VII.

A future temple of my present cell,
I loved all Solitude, but little thought

Which nations yet shall visit for my sake. To spend I know not what of life, remote From all communion with existence, save

While thou, Ferrara, when no longer dwell The maniac and his tyrant: had I been

The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down, Their fellow, many years ere this had seen

And crumbling piecemeal view thy heartless

halls, My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave. But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave: A poet's wreath shall be thy only crown-Perchance in such a cell we suffer more

A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,

While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore:

walls ! The world is all before him-mine is here, Scarce twice the space they must accord my That such as I could love-who blush'd to hear

And thou, Leonora ! thou—who wert ashamed bier.

To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear, What though he perish, he may lift his eye, And with a dying glance upbraid the sky;

Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed I will not raise my own in such reproof,

By grief, years, weariness—and it may be

A taint of that he would impute to me--
Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.

From long infection of a den like this,
VIII.

Where the mind rots congenial with the abyssYet do I feel at times my mind decline,

Adores thee still; and add--that when the towers But with a sense of its decay - I see

And battlements which guard his joyous hours Unwonted lights along my prison shine, Of banquet, dance, and revel are forgot, And a strange demon, who is vexing me

Or left untended in a dull repose, With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below This, this, shall be a consecrated spot! The feeling of the healthful and the free; But Thou-when all that Birth and Beauty But much to One, who long hath suffer'd so.

throws Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place. Of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have And all that may be borne or can debase, One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave. I thought mine enemies had been but Man, No power in death can tear our names apart, But spirits may be leagued with them; all Earth As none in life could rend thee from my heart. Abandons, Heaven forgets me : in the dearth Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate Of such defence the Powers of Evil can,

To be entwined for ever-but too late !

POEMS TO THYRZA.*

*
1811 TO 1812.
TO THYRZA.

Could this have been-a word, a look,

That softly said, “We part in peace, Without a stone to mark the spot,

Had taught my bosom how to brook,
And say, what Truth might well have said,

With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore, art thou lowly laid ?

And didst thou not, since Death for thee By many a shore and many a sea

Prepared a light and pangless dart, Divided, yet beloved in vain;

Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see, The past, the future fled to thee,

Who held, and holds thee in his heart! To bid us meet-no-ne'er again!

Oh ! who like him had watch'd thee here, * The identity of Thyrza is open to question. Or sadly marked thy glazing eye, Trelawny regards her as Byron's cousin Mar

In that dread hour ere death appear,
When silent sorrow fears to sign.

garet Parker.

But he who through life's dreary way

Must pass when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanish'd ray

That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.

Till all was past? But when no more

"Twas thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing v'er,

Had flow'd as fast-as now they flow. Shall they not flow, when many a day

In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call'd but for a time away,

Affection's mingling tears were ours? Ours too the glance none saw beside,

The smile none else might understand; The whisper'd thoughts of hearts allied,

The pressure of the thrilling hand; The kiss, so guiltless and refined,

That Love each warmer wish forbore ; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,

Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice,

When prone, unlike thee, to repine; The song, celestial from thy voice,

But sweet to me from acne but thine ; The pledge we wore-I wear it still,

But where is thine ?-Ah! where art thou? Oft have 1 borne the weight of ill,

But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom

The cup of woe for me to drain. If rest alone be in the tomb,

I would not wish thee here again. But if in worlds more blest than this

Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss,

To wean me from mine anguish here. Teach me—too early taught by thee!

To bear, forgiving and forgiven : On earth thy love was such to me;

It sain would form iny hope in heaven!

ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM

FREE.
One struggle more, and I am free

From pangs that rend my heart in twain; One last long sigh to love and thee,

Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now

With things that never pleased before : Though every joy is fled below,

What future grief can touch me more? Then bring me wine, the banquet bring :

Man was not form'd to live alone: I'll be that light, unmeaning thing

That smiles with all, and weeps with none It was not thus in days more dear,

It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here,

Thou’rt nothing--all are nothing now. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe !

The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,

Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though gay companions o'er the bowl

Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,

The heart,- the heart is lonely still! On many a lone and lovely night

It soothed to gaze upon the sky; For then I deem'd the heavenly light

Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye: And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,

When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, Now Thyrza gazes on that moon'

Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave ! When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed,

And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins “ 'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,

“That Thyrza cannot know my pains :" Like freedoin to the time-worn slave,

A boon 'tis idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days,

When love and life alike were new! How different now thou meet'st my gaze!

How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee

Is silent--ah, were mine as still ! Though cold as e'en the dead can be,

It feels, it sickens with the chill. Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token:

Though painful, welcome to my breast ! Still, still preserve that love unbroken,

Or break the heart to which thou’rt pressed. Time tempers love, but not removes,

More hallow'd when its hope is fled: Oh! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead?

AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE! Away, away, ye notes of woe !

Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence-for, oh!

I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter days

But lull the chords, for now, alas! I must not think, I may not gaze,

On what I am--on what I was. The voice that made those sounds more sweet

Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled ;
And now their softest notes repeat

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead !
Yes, Thyrza ! yes, they breathe of thee,

Beloved dust! since dust thou art ;
And all that once was harmony

Is worse than discord to my heart. 'Tis silent all !--but on my ear

The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear,

A voice that now might well be still : Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake,

Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake

To listen, though the dream be flown. Sweet Thyrza ! waking as in sleep,

Thou art but now a lovely dream ; A star that trembled o'er the deep,

Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.

EUTHANASIA. When Time, or soon or late, shall bring

The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,

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Oblivion! may thy languid wing

Wave gently o'er my dying bed ! Va band of friends or heirs be there,

To weep, or wish, the coming blow: No maiden, with dishevell’d hair,

To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to earth,

With no officious mourners near : I would not mar one hour of mirth,

Nor startle friendship with a tear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour

Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power

In her who lives, and him who dies. 'Twere sweet, my Psyche, to the last

Thy features still serene to see : Forgetful of its struggle past,

E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish--for Beauty still

Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath ; And woman's tears, produced at will,

Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be

my

latest hour, Without regret, without a groan; For thousands Death hath ceased to lower,

And been transient or un own. Ay, but to die, and go,” alas !

Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was

Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,

Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been,

'Tis something better not to be.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine :
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,

Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'ü away:
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd

Must fall the earliest prey ;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,

The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade :
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last :

Extinguish'd, not decay'd ;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed ;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity

Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.

AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG

AND FAIR. Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari

quam tui meminisse!
And thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth ;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,

Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread

In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,

Nor gaze upon the spot ;
There fowers or weeds at will may grow,

So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,

Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'Tis nothing that I loved so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,

And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow :
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF

MEN.
If sometimes in the haunts of men

Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade : And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak beforo. Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile

I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemn'd, appear to surile,

Unfaithful to thy memory! Nor deem that memory less dear,

That then I seem not to repine ; I would not fools should overhear

One sigh that should be wholly thine. If not the goblet pass unquaff'd,

It is not drain'd to banish care ;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.

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