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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.
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When Man himself is but a tool;
We learn at length our faults to blend
Can we then scape from folly free?
Nor be what all in turn must be?
I care not when I quit the scene.
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.
LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED
START not-nor deem my spirit fled;
I lived, I loved, I quaff'd like thee:
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.
That I should thus be happy too;
I thought my jealous heart would break;
I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs,
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
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
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,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
And thou and I shall cease to be.
Can I forget-canst thou forget,
And then those pensive eyes would close,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone,
And senseless as the mouldering stone,
THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT
THERE was a time, I need not name,
None, none hath sunk so deep as this-
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
AND wilt thou weep when I am low?
I would not give that bosom pain.
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.
FILL the goblet again! for I never before
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
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.
STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING
'Tis done-and shivering in the gale
I look around, and cannot trace
I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
I go-but wheresoe'er I flee
Of what we are, and what we've been,
Mrs Musters, formerly Mary Chaworth.
Oн Lady! when I left the shore,
The distant shore which gave me birth,
Where panting Nature droops the head,
I view my parting hour with dread.
Perchance I view her cliffs again :
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?
The Turkish tyrants now enclose;
And though I bid thee now farewell,
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM,
As o'er the cold sepuchral stone
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.
COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM, AND
CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,
Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
But show where rocks our path have crost,
Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
My way-worn countryman, who calls
A shot is fired-by foe or friend?
The mountain-peasants to descend,
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
Nor rather deem from nightly cries
That outlaws were abroad?
Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
Yet here one thought has still the power
While wandering through each broken path,
Thy bark hath long been gone:
Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
And long ere now, with foaming shock,
Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
And since I now remember thee
Do thou, amid the fair white walls,
At times, from out her latticed halls,
Then think upon Calypso's isles,
And when the admiring circle mark
A half-form'd tear, a transient spark
Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun
Some coxcomb's raillery;
Nor own for once thou thought'st on one
WRITTEN IN PASSING THE AMBRACIAN GULF.
The azure grave of many a Roman;
As ever yet was said or sung
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.
For me, degenerate modern wretch,
For he was drown'd, and I've the ague.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS.
IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN:
"FAIR Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE
THE modest bard, like many a bard unknown,
By those tresses unconfined,
By that lip I long to taste;
Maid of Athens! I am gone:
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE
Though now of love and thee bereft,
Thine image and my tears are left.
My life, I love you !" + Constantinople