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TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. Fw 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. But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall: And those who once have loved the most, Too soon forget they loved at all. And such the change the heart displays, So frail is early friendship's reign, A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, Will view thy mind estranged again. 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. As rolls the ocean's changing tide,

So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide, Where stormy passions ever glov 2 It boots not that, together bred,

Our childish days were days of joy: My spring of life has quickly fled; Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy. And when we bid adieu to youth,

Slaves to the specious world's control, We sigh a long farewell to truth;

That world corrupts the noblest soul.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind

Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.
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.
With fools in kindred vice the same,

We learn at length our faults to blend
And those, and those alone, may claim,
The prostituted name of friend.
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?
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.
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.

Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet (For cherish'd first in royal halls,

The welcome vices kindly greet), Een 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. 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.

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? What friend for thee, howe'er inclined, Will deign to own a kindred care? Who will debase his manly mind, For friendship every fool may share? In time forbear: amidst the throng No more so base a thing be seen; No more so idly pass along :

Be something, anything, but-mean.


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

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.
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.
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?
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. 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.

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.
Thy husband's blest-and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass-Oh! how my heart
Would hate him if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

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
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.

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



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WHEN Some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the of woe, pomp 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

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 dis-

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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.

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

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.
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.

Then tell me not, remind me not,

Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot,

And senseless as the mouldering stone,
Which tells that we shall be no more.


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.
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,

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.

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. Yes! my adored, but most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find

Remembrance of that love remain. Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art, or e'er shalt be, Thou hast been dearly, solely min


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.
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. 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. O lady! blessed be that tear

It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tear may steep. 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. Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again; Yet if they grieve thee, say not soI would not give that bosom pain.


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.

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 loved!-who has not?-but what heart can declare,

That pleasure existed while passion was there? 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? 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?

Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Should a rival bow down to your idol below, We are jealous!-who's not?-thou hast no such alloy;

For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

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. When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth.

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'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 freshening blast;
And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one.
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.
'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.
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.
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.
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,
Because I cannot love but one.

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

Mrs Musters, formerly Mary Chaworth.

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Oн Lady! when I left the shore,

The distant shore which gave me birth,
I hardly thought to grieve once more,
To quit another spot on earth:
Yet here, amidst this barren isle,

Where panting Nature droops the head,
Where only thou art seen to smile,

I view my parting hour with dread.
Though far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark blue main;
A few brief rolling seasons o'er,

Perchance I view her cliffs again :
But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime and varied sea,
Though Time restore me to my home,

I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee: On thee, in whom at once conspire

All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire,

And, oh! forgive the word -to love. Forgive the word, in one who ne'er

With such a word can more offend; And since thy heart I cannot share,

Believe me, what I am, thy friend. And who so cold as look on thee,

Thou lovely wanderer, and be less? Nor be, what man should ever be,

The friend of Beauty in distress?
Ah! who would think that form had past
Through Danger's most destructive path,
Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast,
And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath?
Lady! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose,
And Stamboul's Oriental halls

The Turkish tyrants now enclose;
Though mightiest in the lists of fame,
That glorious city still shall be;
On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,
As spot of thy nativity :

And though I bid thee now farewell,
When I behold that wondrous scene,
Since where thou art I may not dwell,
"Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.


As o'er the cold sepuchral stone
Some name arrests the passer-by;
Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eve!

And when by thee that name is read, Perchance in some succeeding year, Reflect on me as on the dead,

And think my heart is buried here.



CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,
And angry clouds are pouring fast
The vengeance of the skies.

Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
And lightnings, as they play,

But show where rocks our path have crost,
Or gild the torrent's spray.

Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
When lightning broke the gloom-
How welcome were its shade!-ah, no!
'Tis but a Turkish tomb.

Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
I hear a voice exclaim-

My way-worn countryman, who calls
On distant England's name.

A shot is fired-by foe or friend?
Another 'tis to tell

The mountain-peasants to descend,
And lead us where they dwell.

Oh! who in such a night will dare

To tempt the wilderness?

And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear

Our signal of distress?

And who that heard our shouts would rise
To.try the dubious road?

Nor rather deem from nightly cries

That outlaws were abroad?

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
More fiercely pours the storm!

Yet here one thought has still the power
To keep my bosom warm.

While wandering through each broken path,
O'er brake and craggy brow;
While elements exhaust their wrath,
Sweet Florence, where art thou?
Not on the sea, not on the sea,

Thy bark hath long been gone:
Oh, may the storm that pours on me,
Bow down my head alone!

Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I press'd thy lip;

And long ere now, with foaming shock,
Impell'd thy gallant ship.

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
'Twere heard if aught so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.

And since I now remember thee
In darkness and in dread,
As in those hours of revelry
Which mirth and music sped;

Do thou, amid the fair white walls,
If Cadiz yet be free,

At times, from out her latticed halls,
Look o'er the dark blue sea;

Then think upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by;
To others give a thousand smiles,
To me a single sigh.

And when the admiring circle mark
The paleness of thy face,

A half-form'd tear, a transient spark
Of melancholy grace,

Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun

Some coxcomb's raillery;

Nor own for once thou thought'st on one
Who ever thinks on thee.
Though smile and sigh alike are v. น
When sever'd hearts repine,
My spirit flies o'er mount and main,
And mourns in search of thinc.


THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
Full beams the moon on Actium's coast:
And on these waves, for Egypt's queen,
The ancient world was won and lost.
And now upon the scene I look,

The azure grave of many a Roman;
Where stern Ambition once torsook
His wavering crown to follow woman.
Florence! whom I will love as well

As ever yet was said or sung
(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell),
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;
Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times,
When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes:
Had bards as many realms as rhymes,

Thy charms might raise new Antonies, Though Fate forbids such things to be, Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd! I cannot lose a world for thee,

But would not lose thee for a world.

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For me, degenerate modern wretch,
Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,
And think I've done a feat to-day.
But since he cross'd the rapid tide,
According to the doubtful story,
To woo,-and-Lord knows what beside,
And swam for Love, as I for glory;
'Twere hard to say who fared the best;
Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you!
He lost his labour, I my jest;

For he was drown'd, and I've the ague.



"FAIR Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
To trace the birth and nursery of art:
Noble his object, glorious is his aim;
He comes to Athens, and he writes his name."


THE modest bard, like many a bard unknown,
Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own;
But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,
His name would bring more credit than his verse.
Σώη μοῦ, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
MAID of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
Σώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each gean wind:
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Σώη μοῦ, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Σώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.

Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol,t
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Σώη μοῦ, σας ἀγαπῶ.

DEAR object of defeated care!

Though now of love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair,

Thine image and my tears are left.
'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope;
But this I feel can ne'er be true:
For by the death-blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.

My life, I love you !" + Constantinople

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