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. I've tried another's fetters too, STANZAS TO FLORENCE. Oh 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? The friend of Beauty in distress? 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 ; As spot of thy nativity: When I behold that wondrous scene, "Twill soothe to be where thou hast been. COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM, AND WHILE BEWILDERED NEAR MOUNT PINDUS Where Pindus' mountains rise, The vengeance of the skies. And lightnings, as they play, Or gild the torrent's spray. When lightning broke the gloom- 'Tis but a Turkish tomb. I hear a voice exclaim- On distant England's name. Another-'tis to tell And lead us where they dwell. To tempt the wilderness ? Our signal of distress? To.try the dubious road? That outlaws were abroad? More fiercely pours the storm! To keep my bosom warm. O'er brake and craggy brow; Sweet Florence, where art thou? Thy bark hath long been gone : Bow down my head alone! When last I press'd thy lip; Impelld thy gallant ship. Hast trod the shore of Spain; Should linger on the main. In darkness and in dread, Which mirth and music sped ; If Cadiz yet be free, Look o'er the dark blue sea; LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA. Some name arrests the passer-by : Thus, when thou view'st this page alone, May mine attract thy pensive eve! Then think upon Calypso's isler, l'or me, degenerate modern wretch, Endear'u by days gone by: Though in the genial month of May, To others give a thousand smiles, My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, To me a single sigh. And think I've done a feat to-day. And when the admiring circle mark But since he cross'd the rapid tide, The paleness of thy face, According to the doubtful story, A hall-form'd tear, a transient spark To woo,-and-Lord knows what beside, Of melancholy grace, And swam for Love, as I for glory; Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun "Twere hard to say who fared the best; Some coxcomb's raillery ; Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you! Nor own for once thou thought'st on one Hc lost his labour, I my jest; Who ever thinks on thee. For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. Though smile and sigh alike are v. When sever'd hearts repine, LINES WRITTEN IN THE TRAVELLERS' My spirit flies o'er mount and main, BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS. And mourns in search of thinc. IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN: STANZAS “Fair Albion, smiling, sees her son depart WRITTEN IN PASSING THX AMBRACIAN GULF. To trace thc birth and nursery of art: Noble his object, glorious is his aim; THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, He comes to Athens, and he writes his name. Full beams the moon on Actium's coast : And on these waves, for Egypt's queen, DENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING: The ancient world was won and lost. The modest bard, like many a bard unknown, And now upon the scene I look, Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own; The azure grave of many a Roman; But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse, Where stern Ambition once torsook His name would bring more credit than his verse. liis wavering crown to follow woman. Florence ! * whom I will love as well MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. As ever yet was said or sung (Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell), Σώη μου, σας αγαπώ. Whilst thou art fair and I am young; Maid of Athens, ere we part, Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times, Give, oh give me back my heart ! When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes : Or, since that has left my breast, Had bards as many realms as rhymes, Keep it now, and take the rest! Thy charms might raise new Antonies, Hear my vow before I go, Though Fate forbids such things to be, Σώη μου, σας αγαπώ. Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd! By those tresses unconfined, I cannot lose a world for thee, Wood by each Ægean wind : But would not lose thee for a world. By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS By those wild eyes like the roe, Σώη μου, σας αγαπώ. By that lip I long to taste; The spell is broke, the charm is flown ! By that zone-encircled waist; Thus is it with life's fitful fever: By all the token-flowers that tell We madly smile when we should groan: What words can never speak so well ; Delirium is our best deceiver. By love's alternate joy and woe, Each lucid interval of thought Σώη μου, σας αγαπώ. Recalls the woes of Nature's charter ; Maid of Athens! I am gone: And he that acts as wise men ought, Think of me, sweet! when alone. But lives, as saints have died, a martyr. Though I fly to Istambol,t Athens holds my heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee? No! Σώη μου, σας αγαπώ. LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE (What maid will not the tale remember?) Dear object of defeated care! To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont ! Though now of love and thee bereft, If, when the wintry tempest roar'd, To reconcile me with despair, He sped to Hero, nothing loth, Thine image and my tears are left. And thus of old thy current pour'd, 'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope; Fair Venus ! how I pity both ! But this I feel can ne'er be true: * Mrs Spencer Smith. For by the death-blow of my Hope + Lieutenant Ekenhead of the Frigate Sa?. My Memory immortal grew. sette accomplished the seat at the same time. My life, I love you!" + Constantinorlu TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK Will deeply embitter the bowl ; But when drunk to escape from thy malice, WAR SONG The draught shall be sweet to my soul. Too cruel! in vain I implore thee My heart from these horrors to save: Will nought to my bosom restore thee? Then open the gates of the grave. As the chief who to combat advances, Secure of his conquest before, Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances, Hast pierced through my heart to its core, Ah, tell inc, my soul, must I perish By pangs which a smile would dispel! Would the hope, which thou once bad'st mu The Turkish tyrant's yoke, cherish, For torture repay me too well? Now sad is the garden of roses, Bela ved but false Haidée ! There Flora all wither'd reposes, And mourns o'er thine absence with me. ON PARTING. The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gift Untainted back to thine. Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see : The tear that from thine eyelid streams Can weep no change in me. I ask no pledge to make me blest In gazing when alone ; Nor one memorial for a breast, Whose thoughts are all thine own. Nor need I write-- to tell the tale My pen were doubly weak: Oh! what can idle words avail, Unless the heart could speak? By day or night, in weal or woe, That heart, no longer free, Must bear the love it cannot show, And silent ache for thee. ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICII WAS BROKEN. That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain ? Alike been all employ'd in vain ? And every fragment dearer grown, A fitter emblem of his own. TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG. Μπενω μες το περιβόλι Ωραιότατη Χάηδή, etc. Beloved and fair Haidée, For surely I see her in thee. Receive this fond truth from my tongue, Yet trembles for what it has sung ; Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree, Shines the soul of the young Haidée. But the loveliest garden grows hateful When Love has abandon'd the bowers : Bring me hemlock--since mine is ungrateful, That herb is more fragrant than flowers. The poison, when pour'd from the chalice, * The song was written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionize Greece. † Constantinople. LINES TO A LADY WEEPING.* A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay ; Could wash a father's fault away! Auspicious to these suffering isles : And be each drop in future years Repaid thee by thy people's smiles, * The Princess Charlotte, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRUTY LANE THE CHAIN I GAVE, That only waste their odours o'er the romb. Such Drury claim'd and claims--nor you refuse FPM THE TURKISH. Onc tribute to revive his slumbering muse , The chun I gave was fair to view, With garlands deck your own Menander's head, llelute diled sweet in sound ; Nor hoard your honours id.y for the dead Dear are the days which made our annals bright, These gists were charm'd by secret spell, Ere Garrick fled, or Prinsley ceased to write, Tly truth in absence to divine : Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs, Anlihey have done their duty well, - Vain of our ancestry as they of theirs; Alas! they could not teach thee thine. While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's That chain was firm in every link, glass Put not to bear a stranger's touch ; To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, That lute was sweet -till thou couldst think And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine in other hands its notes were such. Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line, Let him who from thy neck unbound Pause--ere their feebler offspring you condemn, The chain which shiver'd in his grasp, Reflect how hard the task to rival them! Who saw that lute refuse to sound, Friends of the stage ! to whom both Players Rc-string the chords, renew the clasp. and Plays When thou wert changed, they alter'd too Must sue alike for pardon or for praise. The chain is broke, the music mute. Whose judging voice and eye alone direct "Tis past - to them and thee adieu The boundless power to cherish or reject: If e'er frivolity has led to fame, If e'er the sinking stage could condescend To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend, All past reproach may present scenes refute, THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute ! In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws, Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride ; l Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause: In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's power, Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign. And reason's voice be echoed back by ours ! Ye who beheld (oh! sight admired and This greeting o'er, the ancient rule oley'd, mourn'd, The Drama's homage by her herald paid, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!) Receive our welcome too, whose every tone Through clouds of fire the massive fragments Springs from our hearts, and fain would win riven, your own. Like Israel's pillar,chase the night from heaven: The curtain rises-may our stage unfold Saw the long column of revolving flames Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old! Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, Britons our judges, Nature for our guide, While thousands, throng'd around the burning Still may we please--long, long may you pre side. dome, Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their home, VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSS As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone AT HALES-OWEN. The skies, with lightnings awful as their own, WHEN Dryden's fool, † "unknowing what he Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall sought," Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fail His hours in whistling spent, “for want of Say-shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Reard where once rose the mightiest in our isle, This guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense thought," Know the same favour which the former knew; Supplied, and amply too, by innocence. A shrine for Shakspeare-worthy him and you? Did modern swains, possess'd of Cymon's Yes-it shall be-the magic of that name powers, Defies the scythe of Time, the torch of Flame ;) In Cymon's manner waste their leisure hours, On the same spot still consecrates the scene, Th oftended guests would not, with blushing, And bids the Drama be where she hath been: This fabric's birth attests the potent spell — These fair green walks disgraced by infamy. Indulge our honest pride, and say, How well! Severe the fate of modern fools, alas! As soars this fane to emulate the last, When vice and folly mark them as they pass Oh! might we draw our omens from the past, Like noxious reptiles o'er the whiten'd wil, Some hour propitious to our prayers may boase The filth they leave still points out where the Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. crawl. On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art O'erwhelm'd the gentlest, storm'd the sternest REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE! heart. REMEMBER thee! remember thee! Till Lethe quench life's burning stream, Sheridan, see Remorse and shame shall cling to thee, And haunt thee like a feverish dream! Remeniber thee! Ay, doubt it not, Thy husband too shall think of thee: By neither shalt thou be forgot, Thou false to him, thou fiend to me. TO TIME. TIME! on whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly, But drag or drive us on to die- Those boons to all that know thee known; Yet better I sustain thy load, For now I bear the weight alone. The bitter moments thou hast given ; All that I loved, to peace or heaven. To them be joy or rest, on me Thy future ills shall press in vain : A debt already paid in pain. It felt, but still forgot thy power: Retards, but never counts the hour. In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight Would soon subside from swift to slow; Thy cloud could overcast the light, But could not add a night to woe ; For them, however drear and dark, My soul was suited to thy sky; One star alone shot forth a spark To prove thee-not Eternity. That beam hath sunk, and now thou art A blank; a thing to count and curse, Through each dull tedious trifling part, Which all regret, yet all rehearse. One scene even thou canst not deform; The limit of thy sloth or speed, When future wanderers bear the storm Which we shall sleep too sound to heed : And I can smile to think how weak Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak Must fall upon-a nameless stone. But caught { thin the sobte snare, THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE. To those thyself so fondly sought; Are doubly bitter from that thought : 'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest. The wholly false the heart despises, And spurns deceiver and deceit; Whose love is as sincere as sweet, -- Is doom'd to all who love or live; We scarce our fancy can forgive, That cheated us in slumber only, To leave the waking soul more lonely, What must they feel whom no false vision, But truest, tenderest passion warm’d? As if a dream alone had charm'd ? ; TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG, Au! Love was never yet without The pang, the agony, the doubt, Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, While day and night roll darkling by. Without one friend to hear my woe, I faint, I die beneath the blow. That love had arrows well I knew; Alas! I find them poison'd too. Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net Which love around your haunts hath set; Or, circled by his fatal fire, Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire A bird of free and careless wing Was I, through many a smiling spring; |
0 Գրախոսություններ Reviews aren't verified, but Google checks for and removes fake content when it's identified Գրախոսություն գրել |