Newstead
Abbey, Oct.
Byron
?
?
?
?
?
.
_Athens_, 1810.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
FRAGMENT FROM THE "MONK OF ATHOS. "[14]
1.
Beside the confines of the AEgean main,
Where northward Macedonia bounds the flood,
And views opposed the Asiatic plain,
Where once the pride of lofty Ilion stood,
Like the great Father of the giant brood,
With lowering port majestic Athos stands,
Crowned with the verdure of eternal wood,
As yet unspoiled by sacrilegious hands,
And throws his mighty shade o'er seas and distant lands.
2.
And deep embosomed in his shady groves
Full many a convent rears its glittering spire,
Mid scenes where Heavenly Contemplation loves
To kindle in her soul her hallowed fire,
Where air and sea with rocks and woods conspire
To breathe a sweet religious calm around,
Weaning the thoughts from every low desire,
And the wild waves that break with murmuring sound
Along the rocky shore proclaim it holy ground.
3.
Sequestered shades where Piety has given
A quiet refuge from each earthly care,
Whence the rapt spirit may ascend to Heaven!
Oh, ye condemned the ills of life to bear!
As with advancing age your woes increase,
What bliss amidst these solitudes to share
The happy foretaste of eternal Peace,
Till Heaven in mercy bids your pain and sorrows cease.
[First published in the _Life of Lord Byron_,
by the Hon. Roden Noel, London, 1890, pp. 206, 207. ]
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. [15]
1.
Dear object of defeated care!
Though now of Love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair
Thine image and my tears are left.
2.
'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.
_Athens, January_, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG,
"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? . "
["Deu~te pai~des to~n E(lle/non. "][16]
Sons of the Greeks, arise!
The glorious hour's gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.
CHORUS.
Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.
Then manfully despising
The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
Let your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages,
Behold the coming strife!
Hellenes of past ages,
Oh, start again to life!
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!
And the seven-hilled city[17] seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we're free.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers
Lethargic dost thou lie?
Awake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally!
Leonidas recalling,
That chief of ancient song,
Who saved ye once from falling,
The terrible! the strong!
Who made that bold diversion
In old Thermopylae,
And warring with the Persian
To keep his country free;
With his three hundred waging
The battle, long he stood,
And like a lion raging,
Expired in seas of blood.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,
"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ' ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ,
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ," ? . ? . ? .
["Mpe/no mes' to\ peribo/li,
O(raiota/te Chaede/," k. t. l. ][18]
I enter thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haidee,
Each morning where Flora reposes,
For surely I see her in thee.
Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee,
Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Which utters its song to adore thee,
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Through her eyes, through her every feature,
Shines the soul of the young Haidee.
But the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandoned the bowers;
Bring me hemlock--since mine is ungrateful,
That herb is more fragrant than flowers.
The poison, when poured from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,
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 me, my soul! must I perish
By pangs which a smile would dispel?
Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,
For torture repay me too well?
Now sad is the garden of roses,
Beloved but false Haidee!
There Flora all withered reposes,
And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
ON PARTING.
1.
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
Shall never part from mine,
Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
2.
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:[o]
The tear that from thine eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.
3.
I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;[p]
Nor one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
4.
Nor need I write--to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
Oh! what can idle words avail,[q]
Unless the heart could speak?
5.
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.
_March_, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812(4to). ]
FAREWELL TO MALTA. [19]
Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!
Adieu, Sirocco, sun, and sweat!
Adieu, thou palace rarely entered!
Adieu, ye mansions where--I've ventured!
Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs! [20]
(How surely he who mounts them swears! )
Adieu, ye merchants often failing!
Adieu, thou mob for ever railing!
Adieu, ye packets--without letters!
Adieu, ye fools--who ape your betters! 10
Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine,
That gave me fever, and the spleen!
Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,
Adieu his Excellency's dancers! [21]
Adieu to Peter--whom no fault's in,
But could not teach a colonel waltzing;
Adieu, ye females fraught with graces!
Adieu red coats, and redder faces!
Adieu the supercilious air
Of all that strut _en militaire_! [22] 20
I go--but God knows when, or why,
To smoky towns and cloudy sky,
To things (the honest truth to say)
As bad--but in a different way.
Farewell to these, but not adieu,
Triumphant sons of truest blue!
While either Adriatic shore,[23]
And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more,
And nightly smiles, and daily dinners,[24]
Proclaim you war and women's winners. 30
Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is,
And take my rhyme--because 'tis "gratis. "
And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,[25]
Perhaps you think I mean to praise her--
And were I vain enough to think
My praise was worth this drop of ink,
A line--or two--were no hard matter,
As here, indeed, I need not flatter:
But she must be content to shine
In better praises than in mine, 40
With lively air, and open heart,
And fashion's ease, without its art;
Her hours can gaily glide along.
Nor ask the aid of idle song.
And now, O Malta! since thou'st got us,
Thou little military hot-house!
I'll not offend with words uncivil,
And wish thee rudely at the Devil,
But only stare from out my casement,
And ask, "for what is such a place meant? " 50
Then, in my solitary nook,
Return to scribbling, or a book,
Or take my physic while I'm able
(Two spoonfuls hourly, by this label),
Prefer my nightcap to my beaver,
And bless my stars I've got a fever.
_May_ 26, 1811. [26]
[First published, 1816. ]
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
1.
In the dome of my Sires as the clear moonbeam falls
Through Silence and Shade o'er its desolate walls,
It shines from afar like the glories of old;
It gilds, but it warms not--'tis dazzling, but cold.
2.
Let the Sunbeam be bright for the younger of days:
'Tis the light that should shine on a race that decays,
When the Stars are on high and the dews on the ground,
And the long shadow lingers the ruin around.
3.
And the step that o'erechoes the gray floor of stone
Falls sullenly now, for 'tis only my own;
And sunk are the voices that sounded in mirth,
And empty the goblet, and dreary the hearth.
4.
And vain was each effort to raise and recall
The brightness of old to illumine our Hall;
And vain was the hope to avert our decline,
And the fate of my fathers had faded to mine.
5.
And theirs was the wealth and the fulness of Fame,
And mine to inherit too haughty a name;[r]
And theirs were the times and the triumphs of yore,
And mine to regret, but renew them no more.
6.
And Ruin is fixed on my tower and my wall,
Too hoary to fade, and too massy to fall;
It tells not of Time's or the tempest's decay,[s]
But the wreck of the line that have held it in sway.
_August_ 26, 1811.
[First published in _Memoir_ of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, i. 187. ]
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,[27]
IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING THE AUTHOR
TO BE CHEERFUL, AND TO "BANISH CARE. "
"Oh! banish care"--such ever be
The motto of _thy_ revelry!
Perchance of _mine,_ when wassail nights
Renew those riotous delights,
Wherewith the children of Despair
Lull the lone heart, and "banish care. "
But not in Morn's reflecting hour,
When present, past, and future lower,
When all I loved is changed or gone,
Mock with such taunts the woes of one,
Whose every thought--but let them pass--
Thou know'st I am not what I was.
But, above all, if thou wouldst hold
Place in a heart that ne'er was cold,
By all the powers that men revere,
By all unto thy bosom dear,
Thy joys below, thy hopes above,
Speak--speak of anything but Love.
'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,
The tale of one who scorns a tear;
And there is little in that tale
Which better bosoms would bewail.
But mine has suffered more than well
'Twould suit philosophy to tell.
I've seen my bride another's bride,--
Have seen her seated by his side,--
Have seen the infant, which she bore,
Wear the sweet smile the mother wore,
When she and I in youth have smiled,
As fond and faultless as her child;--
Have seen her eyes, in cold disdain,
Ask if I felt no secret pain;
And _I_ have acted well my part,
And made my cheek belie my heart,
Returned the freezing glance she gave,
Yet felt the while that _woman's_ slave;--
Have kissed, as if without design,
The babe which ought to have been mine,
And showed, alas! in each caress
Time had not made me love the less.
But let this pass--I'll whine no more,
Nor seek again an eastern shore;
The world befits a busy brain,--
I'll hie me to its haunts again.
But if, in some succeeding year,[28]
When Britain's "May is in the sere,"
Thou hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes
Suit with the sablest of the times,
Of one, whom love nor pity sways,
Nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise;
One, who in stern Ambition's pride,
Perchance not blood shall turn aside;
One ranked in some recording page
With the worst anarchs of the age,
Him wilt thou _know_--and _knowing_ pause,
Nor with the _effect_ forget the cause.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.
[First published, _Life_, 1830. ]
TO THYRZA. [t][29]
Without a stone to mark the spot,[30]
And say, what Truth might well have said,[u]
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
By many a shore and many a sea[v]
Divided, yet beloved in vain;
The Past, the Future fled to thee,
To bid us meet--no--ne'er again!
Could this have been--a word, a look,
That softly said, "We part in peace,"
Had taught my bosom how to brook,
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
And didst thou not, since Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart,
Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,
Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
Oh! who like him had watched thee here?
Or sadly marked thy glazing eye,
In that dread hour ere Death appear,
When silent Sorrow fears to sigh,
Till all was past? But when no more
'Twas thine to reck of human woe,
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flowed as fast--as now they flow.
Shall they not flow, when many a day[w]
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere called 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 whispered thought of hearts allied,[x]
The pressure of the thrilling hand;
The kiss, so guiltless and refined,
That Love each warmer wish forbore;
Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,
Ev'n Passion blushed to plead for more. [y]
The tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
The song, celestial from thy voice,
But sweet to me from none but thine;
The pledge we wore--_I_ wear it still,
But where is thine? --Ah! where art thou?
Oft have I borne the weight of ill,
But never bent beneath till now!
Well hast thou left in Life's best bloom[z]
The cup of Woe for me to drain. [aa]
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 fain would form my hope in Heaven! [ab]
October 11, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE! [ac][31]
1.
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. [ad]
To me they speak of brighter days--
But lull the chords, for now, alas! [ae]
I must not think, I may not gaze,[af]
On what I _am_--on what I _was_.
2.
The voice that made those sounds more sweet[ag]
Is hushed, 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!
3.
'Tis silent all! --but on my ear[ah]
The well remembered 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;
Ev'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till Consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
4.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
A Star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turned from earth its tender beam.
But he who through Life's dreary way
Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath,
Will long lament the vanished ray
That scattered gladness o'er his path.
_December_ 8, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE. [ai]
1.
One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;[aj]
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:[ak]
Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more? [al]
2.
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;
Man was not formed 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[am]
Hast fled, and left me lonely here;
Thou'rt nothing,--all are nothing now.
3.
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!
4.
On many a lone and lovely night
It soothed to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deemed the heavenly light
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the AEgean wave,
"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"--
Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!
5.
When stretched on Fever's sleepless bed,
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,
"'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,[an]
"That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"
Like freedom to the time-worn slave--[ao]
A boon 'tis idle then to give--
Relenting Nature vainly gave[32]
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!
6.
My Thyrza's pledge in better days,[ap]
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.
7.
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 hallowed when its Hope is fled:
Oh! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead?
[First published, _Childe Harold,_ 1812 (4to). ]
EUTHANASIA.
1.
When Time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
Oblivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
2.
No band of friends or heirs be there,[33]
To weep, or wish, the coming blow:
No maiden, with dishevelled hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous woe.
3.
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 fear.
4.
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.
5.
'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last
Thy features still serene to see:
Forgetful of its struggles past,
E'en Pain itself should smile on thee.
6.
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.
7.
Then lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret, without a groan;
For thousands Death hath ceased to lower,
And pain been transient or unknown.
8.
"Aye 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!
9.
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.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR. [aq]
"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse! "[34]
1.
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon returned to Earth! [ar]
Though Earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread[as]
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
2.
I will not ask where thou liest low,[at]
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:[au]
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;[av]
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well[aw]
3.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,[ax]
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,[ay]
Nor falsehood disavow:[az]
And, what were worse, thou canst not see[ba]
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. [bb]
4.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,[bc]
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep[bd]
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine,
That all those charms have passed away
I might have watched through long decay.
5.
The flower in ripened bloom unmatched
Must fall the earliest prey;[be]
Though by no hand untimely snatched,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it plucked to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
6.
I know not if I could have borne[bf]
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath passed,[bg]
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguished, not decayed;
As stars that shoot along the sky[bh]
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
7.
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.
8.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,[bi]
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity[bj]
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.
_February_, 1812.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
LINES TO A LADY WEEPING. [bk][35]
Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
Ah! happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a Father's fault away!
Weep--for thy tears are Virtue's tears--
Auspicious to these suffering Isles;
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by thy People's smiles!
_March_, 1812.
[MS. M. First published, _Morning Chronicle_, March 7, 1812
(Corsair, 1814, Second Edition). ]
IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN. [bl]
1.
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 before.
2.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self-condemned, appear to smile,
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_.
3.
If not the Goblet pass unquaffed,
It is not drained to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drowned a single thought of thee.
4.
For wert thou vanished from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandoned Urn?
No, no--it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil;
Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember still.
5.
For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou:
And, oh! I feel in _that_ was given
A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,
For earthly Love to merit thee.
March 14, 1812.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. [36]
1.
Ill-fated Heart! and can it be,
That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain?
Have years of care for thine and thee
Alike been all employed in vain?
2.
Yet precious seems each shattered part,
And every fragment dearer grown,
Since he who wears thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of _his own_.
March 16, 1812.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
THE CHAIN I GAVE.
FROM THE TURKISH.
1.
The chain I gave was fair to view,
The lute I added sweet in sound;
The heart that offered both was true,
And ill deserved the fate it found.
2.
These gifts were charmed by secret spell,
Thy truth in absence to divine;
And they have done their duty well,--
Alas! they could not teach thee thine.
3.
That chain was firm in every link,
But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet--till thou couldst think
In other hands its notes were such.
4.
Let him who from thy neck unbound
The chain which shivered in his grasp,
Who saw that lute refuse to sound,
Restring the chords, renew the clasp.
5.
When thou wert changed, they altered too;
The chain is broke, the music mute,
'Tis past--to them and thee adieu--
False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
[MS. M. First published, _Corsair_, 1814 (Second Edition). ]
LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF
_THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY_. [bm]
1.
Absent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn thy converse,[37] and thy song.
2.
But when the dreaded hour shall come
By Friendship ever deemed too nigh,
And "Memory" o'er her Druid's tomb[38]
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,
3.
How fondly will she then repay
Thy homage offered at her shrine,
And blend, while ages roll away,
_Her_ name immortally with _thine_!
April 19, 1812.
[First published, _Poems_, 1816. ]
ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF
DRURY-LANE THEATRE,
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. [39]
In one dread night our city saw, and sighed,
Bowed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride;
In one short hour beheld the blazing fane,
Apollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned,
Whose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned! )
Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven,
Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven;
Saw the long column of revolving flames
Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,[40] 10
While thousands, thronged around the burning dome,
Shrank back appalled, and trembled for their home,
As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone[bn]
The skies, with lightnings awful as their own,
Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall[bo]
Usurped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall;
Say--shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
Reared where once rose the mightiest in our isle,
Know the same favour which the former knew,
A shrine for Shakespeare--worthy him and _you_? 20
Yes--it shall be--the magic of that name
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;[bp]
On the same spot still consecrates the scene,
And bids the Drama _be_ where she hath _been_:
This fabric's birth attests the potent spell----
Indulge our honest pride, and say, _How well_!
As soars this fane to emulate the last,
Oh! might we draw our omens from the past,
Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast
Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. 30
On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art
O'erwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart.
On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew;
Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew,
Sighed his last thanks, and wept his last adieu:
But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom,
That only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
Such Drury claimed and claims--nor you refuse
One tribute to revive his slumbering muse;
With garlands deck your own Menander's head, 40
Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead! [bq]
Dear are the days which made our annals bright,
Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley[41] ceased to write[br]
Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
Vain of _our_ ancestry as they of _theirs_;
While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass
To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass,
And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
Immortal names, emblazoned on our line,
Pause--ere their feebler offspring you condemn, 50
Reflect how hard the task to rival them!
Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays
Must sue alike for pardon or for praise,
Whose judging voice and eye alone direct
The boundless power to cherish or reject;
If e'er frivolity has led to fame,
And made us blush that you forbore to blame--
If e'er the sinking stage could condescend
To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend--
All past reproach may present scenes refute, 60
And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute! [42]
Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;
So Pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
And Reason's voice be echoed back by ours!
This greeting o'er--the ancient rule obeyed,[43]
The Drama's homage by her herald paid--
Receive _our welcome_ too--whose every tone
Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
The curtain rises--may our stage unfold 70
Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old!
Britons our judges, Nature for our guide,
Still may _we_ please--long, long may _you_ preside.
_Athens_, 1810.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
FRAGMENT FROM THE "MONK OF ATHOS. "[14]
1.
Beside the confines of the AEgean main,
Where northward Macedonia bounds the flood,
And views opposed the Asiatic plain,
Where once the pride of lofty Ilion stood,
Like the great Father of the giant brood,
With lowering port majestic Athos stands,
Crowned with the verdure of eternal wood,
As yet unspoiled by sacrilegious hands,
And throws his mighty shade o'er seas and distant lands.
2.
And deep embosomed in his shady groves
Full many a convent rears its glittering spire,
Mid scenes where Heavenly Contemplation loves
To kindle in her soul her hallowed fire,
Where air and sea with rocks and woods conspire
To breathe a sweet religious calm around,
Weaning the thoughts from every low desire,
And the wild waves that break with murmuring sound
Along the rocky shore proclaim it holy ground.
3.
Sequestered shades where Piety has given
A quiet refuge from each earthly care,
Whence the rapt spirit may ascend to Heaven!
Oh, ye condemned the ills of life to bear!
As with advancing age your woes increase,
What bliss amidst these solitudes to share
The happy foretaste of eternal Peace,
Till Heaven in mercy bids your pain and sorrows cease.
[First published in the _Life of Lord Byron_,
by the Hon. Roden Noel, London, 1890, pp. 206, 207. ]
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. [15]
1.
Dear object of defeated care!
Though now of Love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair
Thine image and my tears are left.
2.
'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.
_Athens, January_, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG,
"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? . "
["Deu~te pai~des to~n E(lle/non. "][16]
Sons of the Greeks, arise!
The glorious hour's gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.
CHORUS.
Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.
Then manfully despising
The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
Let your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages,
Behold the coming strife!
Hellenes of past ages,
Oh, start again to life!
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!
And the seven-hilled city[17] seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we're free.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers
Lethargic dost thou lie?
Awake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally!
Leonidas recalling,
That chief of ancient song,
Who saved ye once from falling,
The terrible! the strong!
Who made that bold diversion
In old Thermopylae,
And warring with the Persian
To keep his country free;
With his three hundred waging
The battle, long he stood,
And like a lion raging,
Expired in seas of blood.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,
"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ' ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ,
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ," ? . ? . ? .
["Mpe/no mes' to\ peribo/li,
O(raiota/te Chaede/," k. t. l. ][18]
I enter thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haidee,
Each morning where Flora reposes,
For surely I see her in thee.
Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee,
Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Which utters its song to adore thee,
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Through her eyes, through her every feature,
Shines the soul of the young Haidee.
But the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandoned the bowers;
Bring me hemlock--since mine is ungrateful,
That herb is more fragrant than flowers.
The poison, when poured from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,
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 me, my soul! must I perish
By pangs which a smile would dispel?
Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,
For torture repay me too well?
Now sad is the garden of roses,
Beloved but false Haidee!
There Flora all withered reposes,
And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
ON PARTING.
1.
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
Shall never part from mine,
Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
2.
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:[o]
The tear that from thine eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.
3.
I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;[p]
Nor one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
4.
Nor need I write--to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
Oh! what can idle words avail,[q]
Unless the heart could speak?
5.
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.
_March_, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812(4to). ]
FAREWELL TO MALTA. [19]
Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!
Adieu, Sirocco, sun, and sweat!
Adieu, thou palace rarely entered!
Adieu, ye mansions where--I've ventured!
Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs! [20]
(How surely he who mounts them swears! )
Adieu, ye merchants often failing!
Adieu, thou mob for ever railing!
Adieu, ye packets--without letters!
Adieu, ye fools--who ape your betters! 10
Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine,
That gave me fever, and the spleen!
Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,
Adieu his Excellency's dancers! [21]
Adieu to Peter--whom no fault's in,
But could not teach a colonel waltzing;
Adieu, ye females fraught with graces!
Adieu red coats, and redder faces!
Adieu the supercilious air
Of all that strut _en militaire_! [22] 20
I go--but God knows when, or why,
To smoky towns and cloudy sky,
To things (the honest truth to say)
As bad--but in a different way.
Farewell to these, but not adieu,
Triumphant sons of truest blue!
While either Adriatic shore,[23]
And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more,
And nightly smiles, and daily dinners,[24]
Proclaim you war and women's winners. 30
Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is,
And take my rhyme--because 'tis "gratis. "
And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,[25]
Perhaps you think I mean to praise her--
And were I vain enough to think
My praise was worth this drop of ink,
A line--or two--were no hard matter,
As here, indeed, I need not flatter:
But she must be content to shine
In better praises than in mine, 40
With lively air, and open heart,
And fashion's ease, without its art;
Her hours can gaily glide along.
Nor ask the aid of idle song.
And now, O Malta! since thou'st got us,
Thou little military hot-house!
I'll not offend with words uncivil,
And wish thee rudely at the Devil,
But only stare from out my casement,
And ask, "for what is such a place meant? " 50
Then, in my solitary nook,
Return to scribbling, or a book,
Or take my physic while I'm able
(Two spoonfuls hourly, by this label),
Prefer my nightcap to my beaver,
And bless my stars I've got a fever.
_May_ 26, 1811. [26]
[First published, 1816. ]
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
1.
In the dome of my Sires as the clear moonbeam falls
Through Silence and Shade o'er its desolate walls,
It shines from afar like the glories of old;
It gilds, but it warms not--'tis dazzling, but cold.
2.
Let the Sunbeam be bright for the younger of days:
'Tis the light that should shine on a race that decays,
When the Stars are on high and the dews on the ground,
And the long shadow lingers the ruin around.
3.
And the step that o'erechoes the gray floor of stone
Falls sullenly now, for 'tis only my own;
And sunk are the voices that sounded in mirth,
And empty the goblet, and dreary the hearth.
4.
And vain was each effort to raise and recall
The brightness of old to illumine our Hall;
And vain was the hope to avert our decline,
And the fate of my fathers had faded to mine.
5.
And theirs was the wealth and the fulness of Fame,
And mine to inherit too haughty a name;[r]
And theirs were the times and the triumphs of yore,
And mine to regret, but renew them no more.
6.
And Ruin is fixed on my tower and my wall,
Too hoary to fade, and too massy to fall;
It tells not of Time's or the tempest's decay,[s]
But the wreck of the line that have held it in sway.
_August_ 26, 1811.
[First published in _Memoir_ of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, i. 187. ]
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,[27]
IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING THE AUTHOR
TO BE CHEERFUL, AND TO "BANISH CARE. "
"Oh! banish care"--such ever be
The motto of _thy_ revelry!
Perchance of _mine,_ when wassail nights
Renew those riotous delights,
Wherewith the children of Despair
Lull the lone heart, and "banish care. "
But not in Morn's reflecting hour,
When present, past, and future lower,
When all I loved is changed or gone,
Mock with such taunts the woes of one,
Whose every thought--but let them pass--
Thou know'st I am not what I was.
But, above all, if thou wouldst hold
Place in a heart that ne'er was cold,
By all the powers that men revere,
By all unto thy bosom dear,
Thy joys below, thy hopes above,
Speak--speak of anything but Love.
'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,
The tale of one who scorns a tear;
And there is little in that tale
Which better bosoms would bewail.
But mine has suffered more than well
'Twould suit philosophy to tell.
I've seen my bride another's bride,--
Have seen her seated by his side,--
Have seen the infant, which she bore,
Wear the sweet smile the mother wore,
When she and I in youth have smiled,
As fond and faultless as her child;--
Have seen her eyes, in cold disdain,
Ask if I felt no secret pain;
And _I_ have acted well my part,
And made my cheek belie my heart,
Returned the freezing glance she gave,
Yet felt the while that _woman's_ slave;--
Have kissed, as if without design,
The babe which ought to have been mine,
And showed, alas! in each caress
Time had not made me love the less.
But let this pass--I'll whine no more,
Nor seek again an eastern shore;
The world befits a busy brain,--
I'll hie me to its haunts again.
But if, in some succeeding year,[28]
When Britain's "May is in the sere,"
Thou hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes
Suit with the sablest of the times,
Of one, whom love nor pity sways,
Nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise;
One, who in stern Ambition's pride,
Perchance not blood shall turn aside;
One ranked in some recording page
With the worst anarchs of the age,
Him wilt thou _know_--and _knowing_ pause,
Nor with the _effect_ forget the cause.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.
[First published, _Life_, 1830. ]
TO THYRZA. [t][29]
Without a stone to mark the spot,[30]
And say, what Truth might well have said,[u]
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
By many a shore and many a sea[v]
Divided, yet beloved in vain;
The Past, the Future fled to thee,
To bid us meet--no--ne'er again!
Could this have been--a word, a look,
That softly said, "We part in peace,"
Had taught my bosom how to brook,
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
And didst thou not, since Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart,
Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,
Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
Oh! who like him had watched thee here?
Or sadly marked thy glazing eye,
In that dread hour ere Death appear,
When silent Sorrow fears to sigh,
Till all was past? But when no more
'Twas thine to reck of human woe,
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flowed as fast--as now they flow.
Shall they not flow, when many a day[w]
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere called 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 whispered thought of hearts allied,[x]
The pressure of the thrilling hand;
The kiss, so guiltless and refined,
That Love each warmer wish forbore;
Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,
Ev'n Passion blushed to plead for more. [y]
The tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
The song, celestial from thy voice,
But sweet to me from none but thine;
The pledge we wore--_I_ wear it still,
But where is thine? --Ah! where art thou?
Oft have I borne the weight of ill,
But never bent beneath till now!
Well hast thou left in Life's best bloom[z]
The cup of Woe for me to drain. [aa]
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 fain would form my hope in Heaven! [ab]
October 11, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE! [ac][31]
1.
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. [ad]
To me they speak of brighter days--
But lull the chords, for now, alas! [ae]
I must not think, I may not gaze,[af]
On what I _am_--on what I _was_.
2.
The voice that made those sounds more sweet[ag]
Is hushed, 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!
3.
'Tis silent all! --but on my ear[ah]
The well remembered 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;
Ev'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till Consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
4.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
A Star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turned from earth its tender beam.
But he who through Life's dreary way
Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath,
Will long lament the vanished ray
That scattered gladness o'er his path.
_December_ 8, 1811.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (4to). ]
ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE. [ai]
1.
One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;[aj]
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:[ak]
Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more? [al]
2.
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;
Man was not formed 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[am]
Hast fled, and left me lonely here;
Thou'rt nothing,--all are nothing now.
3.
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!
4.
On many a lone and lovely night
It soothed to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deemed the heavenly light
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the AEgean wave,
"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"--
Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!
5.
When stretched on Fever's sleepless bed,
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,
"'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,[an]
"That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"
Like freedom to the time-worn slave--[ao]
A boon 'tis idle then to give--
Relenting Nature vainly gave[32]
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!
6.
My Thyrza's pledge in better days,[ap]
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.
7.
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 hallowed when its Hope is fled:
Oh! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead?
[First published, _Childe Harold,_ 1812 (4to). ]
EUTHANASIA.
1.
When Time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
Oblivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
2.
No band of friends or heirs be there,[33]
To weep, or wish, the coming blow:
No maiden, with dishevelled hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous woe.
3.
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 fear.
4.
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.
5.
'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last
Thy features still serene to see:
Forgetful of its struggles past,
E'en Pain itself should smile on thee.
6.
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.
7.
Then lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret, without a groan;
For thousands Death hath ceased to lower,
And pain been transient or unknown.
8.
"Aye 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!
9.
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.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR. [aq]
"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse! "[34]
1.
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon returned to Earth! [ar]
Though Earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread[as]
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
2.
I will not ask where thou liest low,[at]
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:[au]
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;[av]
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well[aw]
3.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,[ax]
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,[ay]
Nor falsehood disavow:[az]
And, what were worse, thou canst not see[ba]
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. [bb]
4.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,[bc]
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep[bd]
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine,
That all those charms have passed away
I might have watched through long decay.
5.
The flower in ripened bloom unmatched
Must fall the earliest prey;[be]
Though by no hand untimely snatched,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it plucked to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
6.
I know not if I could have borne[bf]
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath passed,[bg]
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguished, not decayed;
As stars that shoot along the sky[bh]
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
7.
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.
8.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,[bi]
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity[bj]
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.
_February_, 1812.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
LINES TO A LADY WEEPING. [bk][35]
Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
Ah! happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a Father's fault away!
Weep--for thy tears are Virtue's tears--
Auspicious to these suffering Isles;
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by thy People's smiles!
_March_, 1812.
[MS. M. First published, _Morning Chronicle_, March 7, 1812
(Corsair, 1814, Second Edition). ]
IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN. [bl]
1.
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 before.
2.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self-condemned, appear to smile,
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_.
3.
If not the Goblet pass unquaffed,
It is not drained to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drowned a single thought of thee.
4.
For wert thou vanished from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandoned Urn?
No, no--it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil;
Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember still.
5.
For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou:
And, oh! I feel in _that_ was given
A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,
For earthly Love to merit thee.
March 14, 1812.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. [36]
1.
Ill-fated Heart! and can it be,
That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain?
Have years of care for thine and thee
Alike been all employed in vain?
2.
Yet precious seems each shattered part,
And every fragment dearer grown,
Since he who wears thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of _his own_.
March 16, 1812.
[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition). ]
THE CHAIN I GAVE.
FROM THE TURKISH.
1.
The chain I gave was fair to view,
The lute I added sweet in sound;
The heart that offered both was true,
And ill deserved the fate it found.
2.
These gifts were charmed by secret spell,
Thy truth in absence to divine;
And they have done their duty well,--
Alas! they could not teach thee thine.
3.
That chain was firm in every link,
But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet--till thou couldst think
In other hands its notes were such.
4.
Let him who from thy neck unbound
The chain which shivered in his grasp,
Who saw that lute refuse to sound,
Restring the chords, renew the clasp.
5.
When thou wert changed, they altered too;
The chain is broke, the music mute,
'Tis past--to them and thee adieu--
False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
[MS. M. First published, _Corsair_, 1814 (Second Edition). ]
LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF
_THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY_. [bm]
1.
Absent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn thy converse,[37] and thy song.
2.
But when the dreaded hour shall come
By Friendship ever deemed too nigh,
And "Memory" o'er her Druid's tomb[38]
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,
3.
How fondly will she then repay
Thy homage offered at her shrine,
And blend, while ages roll away,
_Her_ name immortally with _thine_!
April 19, 1812.
[First published, _Poems_, 1816. ]
ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF
DRURY-LANE THEATRE,
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. [39]
In one dread night our city saw, and sighed,
Bowed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride;
In one short hour beheld the blazing fane,
Apollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned,
Whose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned! )
Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven,
Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven;
Saw the long column of revolving flames
Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,[40] 10
While thousands, thronged around the burning dome,
Shrank back appalled, and trembled for their home,
As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone[bn]
The skies, with lightnings awful as their own,
Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall[bo]
Usurped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall;
Say--shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
Reared where once rose the mightiest in our isle,
Know the same favour which the former knew,
A shrine for Shakespeare--worthy him and _you_? 20
Yes--it shall be--the magic of that name
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;[bp]
On the same spot still consecrates the scene,
And bids the Drama _be_ where she hath _been_:
This fabric's birth attests the potent spell----
Indulge our honest pride, and say, _How well_!
As soars this fane to emulate the last,
Oh! might we draw our omens from the past,
Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast
Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. 30
On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art
O'erwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart.
On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew;
Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew,
Sighed his last thanks, and wept his last adieu:
But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom,
That only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
Such Drury claimed and claims--nor you refuse
One tribute to revive his slumbering muse;
With garlands deck your own Menander's head, 40
Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead! [bq]
Dear are the days which made our annals bright,
Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley[41] ceased to write[br]
Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
Vain of _our_ ancestry as they of _theirs_;
While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass
To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass,
And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
Immortal names, emblazoned on our line,
Pause--ere their feebler offspring you condemn, 50
Reflect how hard the task to rival them!
Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays
Must sue alike for pardon or for praise,
Whose judging voice and eye alone direct
The boundless power to cherish or reject;
If e'er frivolity has led to fame,
And made us blush that you forbore to blame--
If e'er the sinking stage could condescend
To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend--
All past reproach may present scenes refute, 60
And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute! [42]
Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;
So Pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
And Reason's voice be echoed back by ours!
This greeting o'er--the ancient rule obeyed,[43]
The Drama's homage by her herald paid--
Receive _our welcome_ too--whose every tone
Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
The curtain rises--may our stage unfold 70
Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old!
Britons our judges, Nature for our guide,
Still may _we_ please--long, long may _you_ preside.
