No More Learning

_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.

[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, Oct. 12, 1812. ]



PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS. [44]

BY DR. PLAGIARY.

_Half stolen_, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an
inarticulate voice by Master ---- at the opening of the next
new theatre. [Stolen parts marked with the inverted commas of
quotation--thus "----". ]

"When energising objects men pursue,"
Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who.
A modest Monologue you here survey,
Hissed from the theatre the "other day,"
As if Sir Fretful wrote "the slumberous" verse,
And gave his son "the rubbish" to rehearse.
"Yet at the thing you'd never be amazed,"
Knew you the rumpus which the Author raised;
"Nor even here your smiles would be represt,"
Knew you these lines--the badness of the best, 10
"Flame! fire! and flame! " (words borrowed from Lucretius. [45])
"Dread metaphors" which open wounds like issues!
"And sleeping pangs awake--and----But away"--
(Confound me if I know what next to say).
Lo "Hope reviving re-expands her wings,"
And Master G---- recites what Dr. Busby sings! --
"If mighty things with small we may compare,"
(Translated from the Grammar for the fair! )
Dramatic "spirit drives a conquering car,"
And burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of "tar. " 20
"This spirit" "Wellington has shown in Spain,"
To furnish Melodrames for Drury Lane.
"Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,"
And George and I will dramatise it for ye.

"In Arts and Sciences our Isle hath shone"
(This deep discovery is mine alone).
Oh "British poesy, whose powers inspire"
My verse--or I'm a fool--and Fame's a liar,
"Thee we invoke, your Sister Arts implore"
With "smiles," and "lyres," and "pencils," and much more. 30
These, if we win the Graces, too, we gain
_Disgraces_, too! "inseparable train! "
"Three who have stolen their witching airs from Cupid"
(You all know what I mean, unless you're stupid):
"Harmonious throng" that I have kept _in petto_
Now to produce in a "divine _sestetto_"! !
"While Poesy," with these delightful doxies,
"Sustains her part" in all the "upper" boxes!
"Thus lifted gloriously, you'll sweep along,"
Borne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; 40
"Shine in your farce, masque, scenery, and play"
(For this last line George had a holiday).
"Old Drury never, never soar'd so high,"
So says the Manager, and so say I.
"But hold," you say, "this self-complacent boast;"
Is this the Poem which the public lost?
"True--true--that lowers at once our mounting pride;"
But lo;--the Papers print what you deride.
"'Tis ours to look on _you_--_you_ hold the prize,"
'Tis _twenty guineas_, as they advertise! 50
"A _double_ blessing your rewards impart"--
I wish I had them, then, with all my heart.
"Our _twofold_ feeling _owns_ its twofold cause,"
Why son and I both beg for your applause.
"When in your fostering beams you bid us live,"
My next subscription list shall say how much you give!

[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, October 23, 1812. ]



VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE AT HALES-OWEN. [46]

When Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought,"
His hours in whistling spent, "for want of thought,"[47]
This guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense
Supplied, and amply too, by innocence:
Did modern swains, possessed of Cymon's powers,
In Cymon's manner waste their leisure hours,
Th' offended guests would not, with blushing, see
These fair green walks disgraced by infamy.
Severe the fate of modern fools, alas!
When vice and folly mark them as they pass.
Like noxious reptiles o'er the whitened wall,
The filth they leave still points out where they crawl.

[First published, 1832, vol. xvii. ]



REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE! [48]

1.

Remember thee! remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
Remorse and Shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish dream!

2.

Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.
Thy husband too shall think of thee:
By neither shalt thou be forgot,
Thou _false_ to him, thou _fiend_ to me! [49]

[First published, _Conversations of Lord Byron_, 1824. ]



TO TIME.

Time! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die--
Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed
Those boons to all that know thee known;
Yet better I sustain thy load,
For now I bear the weight alone.
I would not one fond heart should share
The bitter moments thou hast given;
And pardon thee--since thou couldst spare
All that I loved, to peace or Heaven.
To them be joy or rest--on me
Thy future ills shall press in vain;
I nothing owe but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain.
Yet even that pain was some relief;
It felt, but still forgot thy power:[bs]
The active agony of grief
Retards, but never counts the hour. [bt]
In joy I've sighed 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 then, 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.

[MS. M. First published, _Childe Harold_, 1814 (Seventh Edition). ]



TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.

1.

Ah! 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.

2.

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 poisoned too.

3.

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.

4.

A bird of free and careless wing
Was I, through many a smiling spring;
But caught within the subtle snare,
I burn, and feebly flutter there.

5.

Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
Can neither feel nor pity pain,
The cold repulse, the look askance,
The lightning of Love's angry glance.

6.

In flattering dreams I deemed thee mine;
Now hope, and he who hoped, decline;
Like melting wax, or withering flower,
I feel my passion, and thy power.

7.

My light of Life! ah, tell me why
That pouting lip, and altered eye?
My bird of Love! my beauteous mate!
And art thou changed, and canst thou hate?

8.

Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow:
What wretch with me would barter woe?
My bird! relent: one note could give
A charm to bid thy lover live.

9.

My curdling blood, my madd'ning brain,
In silent anguish I sustain;
And still thy heart, without partaking
One pang, exults--while mine is breaking.

10.

Pour me the poison; fear not thou!
Thou canst not murder more than now:
I've lived to curse my natal day,
And Love, that thus can lingering slay.

11.

My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
Can patience preach thee into rest?
Alas! too late, I dearly know
That Joy is harbinger of Woe.

[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1814 (Seventh Edition). ]



THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE. [bu][50]

1.

Thou art not false, but thou art fickle,
To those thyself so fondly sought;
The tears that thou hast forced to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought:
'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest,
_Too well_ thou lov'st--_too soon_ thou leavest.

2.

The wholly false the _heart_ despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit;
But she who not a thought disguises,[bv]
Whose love is as sincere as sweet,--
When _she_ can change who loved so truly,
It _feels_ what mine has _felt_ so newly.

3.

To dream of joy and wake to sorrow
Is doomed to all who love or live;
And if, when conscious on the morrow,
We scarce our Fancy can forgive,
That cheated us in slumber only,
To leave the waking soul more lonely,

4.

What must they feel whom no false vision
But truest, tenderest Passion warmed?
Sincere, but swift in sad transition:
As if a dream alone had charmed?
Ah! sure such _grief_ is _Fancy's_ scheming,
And all thy _Change_ can be but _dreaming! _

[MS. M. First published, _Childe Harold_, 1814 (Seventh Edition). ]



ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE. "[bw]

The "Origin of Love! "--Ah, why
That cruel question ask of me,
When thou mayst read in many an eye
He starts to life on seeing thee?
And shouldst thou seek his _end_ to know:
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,
He'll linger long in silent woe;
But live until--I cease to be.

[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1814 (Seventh Edition). ]



ON THE QUOTATION,

"And my true faith can alter never,
Though thou art gone perhaps for ever. "

1.

And "thy true faith can alter never? "--
Indeed it lasted for a--week!
I know the length of Love's forever,
And just expected such a freak.
In peace we met, in peace we parted,
In peace we vowed to meet again,
And though I find thee fickle-hearted
No pang of mine shall make thee vain.

2.

One gone--'twas time to seek a second;
In sooth 'twere hard to blame thy haste.
And whatsoe'er thy love be reckoned,
At least thou hast improved in taste:
Though one was young, the next was younger,
His love was new, mine too well known--
And what might make the charm still stronger,
The youth was present, I was flown.

3.

Seven days and nights of single sorrow!
Too much for human constancy!
A fortnight past, why then to-morrow,
His turn is come to follow me:
And if each week you change a lover,
And so have acted heretofore,
Before a year or two is over
We'll form a very pretty _corps_.

4.

Adieu, fair thing! without upbraiding
I fain would take a decent leave;
Thy beauty still survives unfading,
And undeceived may long deceive.
With him unto thy bosom dearer
Enjoy the moments as they flee;
I only wish his love sincerer
Than thy young heart has been to me.

1812.
[From a MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray,
now for the first time printed. ]



REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSION'S POWER. [51]

1.

Remember him, whom Passion's power
Severely--deeply--vainly proved:
Remember thou that dangerous hour,
When neither fell, though both were loved. [bx]

2.

That yielding breast, that melting eye,[by]
Too much invited to be blessed:
That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
The wilder wish reproved, repressed.

3.

Oh! let me feel that all I lost[bz]
But saved thee all that Conscience fears;
And blush for every pang it cost
To spare the vain remorse of years.

4.

Yet think of this when many a tongue,
Whose busy accents whisper blame,
Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,
And brand a nearly blighted name. [ca]

5.

Think that, whate'er to others, thou
Hast seen each selfish thought subdued:
I bless thy purer soul even now,
Even now, in midnight solitude.

6.

Oh, God! that we had met in time,
Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free;
When thou hadst loved without a crime,
And I been less unworthy thee! [cb]

7.

Far may thy days, as heretofore,[cc]
From this our gaudy world be past!
And that too bitter moment o'er,
Oh! may such trial be thy last.

8.

This heart, alas! perverted long,
Itself destroyed might there destroy;
To meet thee in the glittering throng,
Would wake Presumption's hope of joy. [cd]

9.

Then to the things whose bliss or woe,
Like mine, is wild and worthless all,
That world resign--such scenes forego,
Where those who feel must surely fall.

10.

Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness--
Thy soul from long seclusion pure;
From what even here hath passed, may guess
What there thy bosom must endure.

11.

Oh! pardon that imploring tear,
Since not by Virtue shed in vain,
My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;
For me they shall not weep again.

12.

Though long and mournful must it be,
The thought that we no more may meet;
Yet I deserve the stern decree,
And almost deem the sentence sweet.

13.

Still--had I loved thee less--my heart
Had then less sacrificed to thine;
It felt not half so much to part
As if its guilt had made thee mine.

1813.
[MS. M. First published, _Childe Harold_, 1814 (Seventh Edition). ]



IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.