To Carolinea
Reading edition
To Carolinea
1. Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay; And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs, Which said far more than words can sayb? 2. Though keen the grief thy tears exprestc, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own. 3. But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine. 4. Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breath'd my name. 5. And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But that, will make us weep the more. 6. Again, thou best belov'd, adieu! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only hope is, to forget! 1805.
Footnote a:
Ý
To
——. [4to]
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Footnote b:
Ý
than words could say
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Footnote c:
Ý
Though deep the grief
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Contents
To Caroline1
1. You say you love, and yet your eye No symptom of that love conveys, You say you love, yet know not why, Your cheek no sign of love betrays. 2. Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee. 3. Whene'er we meet my blushes rise, And mantle through my purpled cheek, But yet no blush to mine replies, Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak. 4. Your voice alone declares your flame, And though so sweet it breathes my name, Our passions still are not the same; Alas! you cannot love like me. 5. For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow, And though so oft it meets my kiss, It burns with no responsive glow, Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss. 6. Ah! what are words to love like mine, Though uttered by a voice like thine, I still in murmurs must repine, And think that love can ne'er be true, 7. Which meets me with no joyous sign, Without a sigh which bids adieu; How different is my love from thine, How keen my grief when leaving you. 8. Your image fills my anxious breast, Till day declines adown the West, And when at night, I sink to rest, In dreams your fancied form I view. 9. 'Tis then your breast, no longer cold, With equal ardour seems to burn, While close your arms around me fold, Your lips my kiss with warmth return. 10. Ah! would these joyous moments last; Vain Hope! the gay delusion's past, That voice!--ah! no, 'tis but the blast, Which echoes through the neighbouring grove. 11. But when awake, your lips I seek, And clasp enraptur'd all your charms, So chill's the pressure of your cheek, I fold a statue in my arms. 12. If thus, when to my heart embrac'd, No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd, You may be prudent, fair, and chaste, But ah! my girl, you do not love.
Footnote 1:
Ý These lines, which appear in the Quarto, were never republished.
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Contents
To Emma1
1. Since now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover; Since now, our dream of bliss is past, One pang, my girl, and all is over. 2. Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Which tears me far from one so dear, Departing for a distant shore. 3. Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, And joy will mingle with our tears; When thinking on these ancient towers, The shelter of our infant years; 4. Where from this Gothic casement's height, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell, And still, though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell, 5. O'er fields through which we us'd to run, And spend the hours in childish play; O'er shades where, when our race was done, Reposing on my breast you lay; 6. Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss, It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes: 7. See still the little painted bark, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park, The elm I clamber'd for your sake. 8. These times are past, our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes, I must retrace alone; Without thee, what will they avail? 9. Who can conceive, who has not prov'd, The anguish of a last embrace? When, torn from all you fondly lov'd, You bid a long adieu to peace. 10. This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu!
Footnote 1:
Ý To Maria [4to]
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Contents
Fragments of School Exercises: From the Prometheus Vinctus of Æschylus
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne Both Gods and mortals homage pay, Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall, In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; My voice shall raise no impious strain, 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main. ... How different now thy joyless fate, Since first Hesione thy bride, When plac'd aloft in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd, And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd; The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd2. Harrow, December 1, 1804.
Footnote 1:
Ý The Greek heading does not appear in the Quarto, nor in the three first Editions.
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Footnote 2:
Ý
"My first Harrow verses (that is, English, as exercises), a translation of a chorus from the Prometheus of Æschylus, were received by Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our headmaster), but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poetry."
(
Life
, p. 20.)
The lines are not a translation but a loose adaptation or paraphrase of part of a chorus of the
Prometheus Vinctus
, I, 528,
sq.
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Contents
Lines written in "Letters of an Italian Nun and an English Gentleman, by J.J. Rousseau1: Founded on Facts"
"Away, away,--your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts; And you will smile at their believing, And they shall weep at your deceiving."
Footnote 1:
Ý A second edition of this work, of which the title is,
Letters, etc., translated from the French of Jean Jacques Rousseau
, was published in London, in 1784. It is, probably, a literary forgery.
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Contents
Answer to the Foregoinga, Addressed to Miss——
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts, (From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,)b Exist but in imagination, Mere phantoms of thine own creationc; For he who views that witching grace, That perfect form, that lovely face, With eyes admiring, oh! believe me, He never wishes to deceive thee: Once in thy polish'd mirror glanced Thou'lt there descry that elegance Which from our sex demands such praises, But envy in the other raises.-- Then he who tells thee of thy beautye, Believe me, only does his duty: Ah! fly not from the candid youth; It is not flattery, — 'tis truthf. July, 1804.
Footnote a:
Ý
Answer to the above.
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Footnote b:
Ý
From which you'd.
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Ý
Mere phantoms of your own creation; For he who sees.
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Ý
Once let you at your mirror glance You'll there descry that elegance,
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Ý
Then he who tells you of your beauty.
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Footnote f:
Ý
It is not flattery, but truth.
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Contents
On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School1
Where are those honours, Ida! once your own, When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne? As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, Hail'd a Barbarian in her Cæsar's place, So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate. Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soula, Pomposus holds you in his harsh controul; Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, With florid jargon, and with vain parade; With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules, (Such as were ne'er before enforc'd in schools.)b Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws, He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause; With him the same dire fate, attending Rome, Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom: Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame, No trace of science left you, but the name, Harrow, July, 1805.
Footnote 1: Ý In March, 1805, Dr. Drury, the Probus of the piece, retired from the Head-mastership of Harrow School, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler, the Pomposus. "Dr. Drury," said Byron, in one of his note-books, "was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father." Out of affection to his late preceptor, Byron advocated the election of Mark Drury to the vacant post, and hence his dislike of the successful candidate. He was reconciled to Dr. Butler before departing for Greece, in 1809, and in his diary he says, "I treated him rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since." (See allusions in and notes to Childish Recollections, pp. 84-106, and especially note I, p. 88, notes I and 2, p. 89, and note I, p. 91.) return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý ——but of a narrower soul. [4to] return
Footnote b: Ý Such as were ne'er before beheld in schools. [4to] return
Contents
Epitaph on a Beloved Friend1
[Plato's Epitaph (
Epig. Græc.,
Jacobs, 1826, p. 309), quoted by Diog. Laertins.]
Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever deara! What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier! What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death! Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force; Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey; Thou still hadst liv'd to bless my aching sight, Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight. If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, But living statues there are seen to weep; Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. What though thy sire lament his failing line, A father's sorrows cannot equal mine! Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer, Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here: But, who with me shall hold thy former place? Thine image, what new friendship can efface? Ah, none!--a father's tears will cease to flow, Time will assuage an infant brother's woe; To all, save one, is consolation known, While solitary Friendship sighs alone. Harrow, 1803
Footnote 1: Ý The heading which appears in the Quarto and P. on V. Occasions was subsequently changed to Epitaph on a Friend. The motto was prefixed in Hours of Idleness. The epigram which Bergk leaves under Plato's name was translated by Shelley (Poems, 1895, iii. 361) "Thou wert the morning star Among the living, Ere thy fair light had fled; Now having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving New splendour to the dead." There is an echo of the Greek distich in Byron's exquisite line, "The Morning-Star of Memory." The words, "Southwell, March 17," are added, in a lady's hand, on p. 9 of the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions in the British Museum. The conjecture that the "beloved friend," who is of humble origin, is identical with "E----" of the verses on p. 4, remains uncertain. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý Oh Boy! for ever lov'd, for ever dear! What fruitless tears have wash'd thy honour'd bierb; What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs of death. Could tears have turn'd the tyrant in his course, Could sighs have checked his dart's relentless forcec; Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey, Thou still had'st liv'd to bless my aching sight, Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight: Though low thy lot since in a cottage born, No titles did thy humble name adorn, To me, far dearer, was thy artless love, Than all the joys, wealth, fame, and friends could prove. For thee alone I liv'd, or wish'd to live, (Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive,) Heart-broken now, I wait an equal doom, Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb; Where this frail form compos'd in endless rest, I'll make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast; That breast where oft in life, I've laid my head, Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead; This life resign'd, without one parting sigh, Together in one bed of earth we'll lie! Together share the fate to mortals given, Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven. Harrow, 1803. [4to. P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote b: Ý have bath'd thy honoured bier. [P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote c: Ý Could tears retard, Ý[P. on V. Occasions.] Could sighs avert. Ý[P. on V. Occasions.] return
Contents
Adrian's Address to his Soul when Dying
Animula! vagula, Blandula, Hospes, comesque corporis, Quæ nunc abibis in Loca-- Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis Jocos?
Translation:
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite, Friend and associate of this clay! To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight? No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. 1806.
Contents
A Fragment1
When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns, To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stonea; My epitaph shall be my name alone2: If that with honour fail to crown my clayb, Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay! That, only that, shall single out the spot; By that remember'd, or with that forgotc. 1803
Footnote 1: Ý There is no heading in the Quarto. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý No lengthen'd scroll of virtue and renown. [4to. P. on V. Occ.] return
Footnote 2: Ý In his will, drawn up in 1811, Byron gave directions that "no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb." June, 1819, he wrote to Murray: "Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for instance, 'Martini Luigi Implora pace.' Can anything be more full of pathos? I hope whoever may survive me will see those two words, and no more, put over me." Life, pp. 131, 398. return Footnote b: Ý If that with honour fails, [4to] return
Footnote c: Ý But that remember'd, or fore'er forgot. [4to. P. on V. Occasions.] return
Contents
To Caroline1
1. Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay? The present is hell! and the coming to-morrow But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day. 2. From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no cursesa, I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss; For poor is the soul which, bewailing, rehearses Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this-- 3. Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning, Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage, On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage. 4. But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. 5. Yet, still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Love and Hope upon earth bring no more consolation, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. 6. Oh! when, my ador'd, in the tomb will they place me, Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Perhaps they will leave unmolested--the dead. 1805.
Footnote 1: ÝTo—— [4to]. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý fall no curses. [4to. P. on V. Occasions.] return
Contents
To Caroline1
1. When I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive. 2. Yet still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear; 3. That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. 4. Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, In the death which one day will deprive you of mea. 5. Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotionb, No doubt can the mind of your lover invade; He worships each look with such faithful devotion, A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade. 6. But as death, my belov'd, soon or late shall o'ertake us, And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us, When calling the dead, in Earth's bosom laid low. 7. Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flowc; Let us pass round the cup of Love's bliss in full measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below. 1805.
Footnote 1: Ý There is no heading in the Quarto. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ýwill deprive me of thee. Ý[4to] return
Footnote b: Ý No jargon of priests o'er our union was mutter'd, To rivet the fetters of husband and wife; By our lips, by our hearts, were our vows alone utter'd, To perform them, in full, would ask more than a life. [4to] return
Footnote c: Ý will unceasingly flow. Ý[4to] return
Contents
On a Distant View of the Village and School of Harrow on the Hill, 1806
Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos1. Virgil. 1. Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection Embitters the present, compar'd with the past; Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection, And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last2; 2. Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied3; How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrancea, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd! 3. Again I revisit the hills where we sported, The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought4; The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted, To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught. 4. Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd, As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone5 I lay; Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd, To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. 5. I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded, Where, as Zanga6, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded, I fancied that Mossop7 himself was outshone. 6. Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv'd; Till, fir'd by loud plaudits and self-adulation, I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv'db. 7. Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you! Unfaded your memory dwells in my breastc; Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you: Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest. 8. To Ida full oft may remembrance restore med, While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll! Since Darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me, More dear is the beam of the past to my soul! 9. But if, through the course of the years which await me, Some new scene of pleasure should open to view, I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me, "Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew."8 1806.
Footnote 1: Ý The motto was prefixed in Hours of Idleness. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý How welcome once more. [4to] return
Footnote 2: Ý "My school-friendships were with me passions (for I was always violent), but I do not know that there is one which has endured (to be sure, some have been cut short by death) till now." Diary, 1821; Life, p. 21. return Footnote b: Ý I consider'd myself. [4to] return
Footnote 3: Ý Byron was at first placed in the house of Mr. Henry Drury, but in 1803 was removed to that of Mr. Evans. "The reason why Lord Byron wishes for the change, arises from the repeated complaints of Mr. Henry Drury respecting his inattention to business, and his propensity to make others laugh and disregard their employment as much as himself." (Dr. Joseph Drury to Mr. John Hanson.) return Footnote c: Ý As your memory beams through this agonized breast; Thus sad and deserted, I n'er can forget you, Though this heart throbs to bursting by anguish possest. [4to] Your memory beams through this agonized breast. [P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote 4: Ý "At Harrow I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but one battle out of seven." Diary, 1821; Life, p. 21. return Footnote d: Ý I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madness, Of tears as of reason for ever was drain'd; But the drops which now flow down this bosom of sadness, Convince me the springs have some moisture retain'd. Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection, Has wrung from these eyelids, to weeping long dead, In torrents, the tears of my warmest affection, The last and the fondest, I ever shall shed. [4to. P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote 5: ÝA tomb in the churchyard at Harrow was so well known to be his favourite resting-place, that the boys called it "Byron's Tomb:" and here, they say, he used to sit for hours, wrapt up in thought.--Life, p. 26. return
Footnote 6: Ý For the display of his declamatory powers, on the speech-days, he selected always the most vehement passages; such as the speech of Zanga over the body of Alonzo, and Lear's address to the storm.--Life, p. 20, note; and post, p. 103, var. i. return
Footnote 7: Ý Henry Mossop (1729-1773), a contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of "Zanga" in Young's tragedy of The Revenge. return
Footnote 8: Ý Stanzas 8 and 9 first appeared in Hours of Idleness.
Contents
Thoughts Suggested by a College Examination
High in the midst, surrounded by his peers, Magnus1 his ample front sublime uprearsa: Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a God, While Sophs2 and Freshmen tremble at his nod; As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloomb, His voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome; Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules. Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried, Though little vers'd in any art beside; Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to penc, Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken. What! though he knows not how his fathers bled, When civil discord pil'd the fields with dead, When Edward bade his conquering bands advance, Or Henry trampled on the crest of France: Though marvelling at the name of Magna Charta, Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta; Can tell, what edicts sage Lycurgus made, While Blackstone's on the shelf, neglected laid; Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame, Of Avon's bard, rememb'ring scarce the name. Such is the youth whose scientific pate Class-honours, medals, fellowships, await; Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize, If to such glorious height, he lifts his eyes. But lo! no common orator can hope The envied silver cup within his scope: Not that our heads much eloquence require, Th' Athenian's3 glowing style, or Tully's fire. A manner clear or warm is useless, sinced We do not try by speaking to convince; Be other orators of pleasing proud,-- We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd: Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, A proper mixture of the squeak and groan: No borrow'd grace of action must be seen, The slightest motion would displease the Dean; Whilst every staring Graduate would prate, Against what--he could never imitate. The man, who hopes t' obtain the promis'd cup, Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up; Nor stop, but rattle over every word-- No matter what, so it can not be heard: Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest: Who speaks the fastest's sure to speak the best; Who utters most within the shortest space, May, safely, hope to win the wordy race. The Sons of Science these, who, thus repaid, Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade; Where on Cam's sedgy banks, supine, they lie, Unknown, unhonour'd live--unwept for die: Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls, They think all learning fix'd within their walls: In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, All modern arts affecting to despise; Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or Porson's4 notee, More than the verse on which the critic wrote: Vain as their honours, heavy as their Ale5, Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale; To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel, When Self and Church demand a Bigot zeal. With eager haste they court the lord of powerf, (Whether 'tis Pitt or Petty6 rules the hour;) To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, While distant mitres to their eyes are spreadg; But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his place. Such are the men who learning's treasures guard! Such is their practice, such is their reward! This much, at least, we may presume to say-- The premium can't exceed the price they payh. 1806. 10 20 30 40 50 60 70
Footnote 1: Ý No reflection is here intended against the person mentioned under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented as performing an unavoidable function of his office. Indeed, such an attempt could only recoil upon myself; as that gentleman is now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he fills his situation, as he was in his younger days for wit and conviviality. [Dr. William Lort Mansel (1753-1820) was, in 1798, appointed Master of Trinity College, by Pitt. He obtained the bishopric of Bristol, through the influence of his pupil, Spencer Perceval, in 1808. He died in 1820. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý M--us--l.-- [4to] return
Footnote 2: Ý Undergraduates of the second and third year. return Footnote b: Ý Whilst all around. [4to] return
Footnote 3: Ý Demosthenes. return Footnote c: Ý Who with scarse sense to pen an English letter, Yet with precision scans an Attis metre. [4to] return
Footnote 4: Ý The present Greek professor at Trinity College, Cambridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may, perhaps, justify their preference. [Richard Porson (1759-1808). For Byron's description of him, see letter to Murray, of February 20, 1818. Byron says (Diary, December 17, 18, 1813) that he wrote the Devil's Drive in imitation of Porson's Devil's Walk. This was a common misapprehension at the time. The Devil's Thoughts was the joint composition of Coleridge and Southey, but it was generally attributed to Porson, who took no trouble to disclaim it. It was originally published in the Morning Post, Sept. 6, 1799, and Stuart, the editor, said that it raised the circulation of the paper for several days after. (See Coleridge's Poems (1893), pp. 147, 621.)] return Footnote d: Ý The manner of the speech is nothing, since, [4to. P, on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote 5: Ý Lines 59-62 are not in the Quarto. They first appeared in Poems Original and Translated. return Footnote e: Ý Celebrated critics [4to. Three first Editions.] return
Footnote 6: Ý Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty has lost his place, and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honour of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no comment. (Lord Henry Petty, M.P. for the University of Cambridge, was Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1805; but in 1807 he lost his seat. In 1809 he succeeded his brother as Marquis of Lansdowne. He died in 1863.) return Footnote f: Ý They court the tool of power [4to. P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote g: ÝWhile mitres, prebends.--[4to. P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote h: Ý The reward's scarce equal to the price they pay. [4to] return
Contents
To Mary, on Receiving Her Picture1
1. This faint resemblance of thy charms, (Though strong as mortal art could give,) My constant heart of fear disarms, Revives my hopes, and bids me live. 2. Here, I can trace the locks of gold Which round thy snowy forehead wave; The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould, The lips, which made me Beauty's slave. 3. Here I can trace--ah, no! that eye, Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy, And bid him from the task retire. 4. Here, I behold its beauteous hue; But where's the beam so sweetly strayinga, Which gave a lustre to its blue, Like Luna o'er the ocean playing? 5. Sweet copy! far more dear to me, Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be, Save her who plac'd thee next my heart. 6. She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear, Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there Held every sense in fast controul. 7. Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time,'twill cheer-- My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; In life's last conflict 'twill appear, And meet my fond, expiring gaze.
Footnote 1: Ý This "Mary" is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or "Mary" of Aberdeen. She was of humble station in life. Byron used to show a lock of her light golden hair, as well as her picture, among his friends. (See Life, p. 41, note.) return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý But Where's the beam of soft desire? Which gave a lustre to its blue, Love, only love, could e'er inspire.-- [4to. P. on V, Occasions.] return
Contents
On the Death of Mr. Fox1
the following illiberal impromptu appeared in the Morning Post:
"Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour, when Pitt resign'd his breath: These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue, We give the palm, where Justice points its due."
to which the author of these pieces sent the following replya for insertion in the Morning Chronicle.
Oh, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth Would mangle, still, the dead, perverting truthb; What, though our "nation's foes" lament the fate, With generous feeling, of the good and great; Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the namec Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame? When Pitt expir'd in plenitude of power, Though ill success obscur'd his dying hour, Pity her dewy wings before him spread, For noble spirits "war not with the dead:" His friends in tears, a last sad requiem gave, As all his errors slumber'd in the graved; He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight"e Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state. When, lo! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd, Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd: He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss suppliedf, With him, our fast reviving hopes have died; Not one great people, only, raise his urn, All Europe's far-extended regions mourn. "These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue, To give the palm where Justice points its due;"g Yet, let not canker'd Calumny assailh, Or round her statesman wind her gloomy veil. Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep; For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, While friends and foes, alike, his talents owni.-- Fox! shall, in Britain's future annals, shine, Nor e'en to Pitt, the patriot's palm resign; Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask, For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dar'd to askj. (Southwell, Oct., 18062.)
Footnote 1: Ý The stanza on the death of Fox appeared in the Morning Post, September 26, 1806. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý The subjoined Reply. [4to] return
Footnote 2: Ý This MS. is preserved at Newstead. return Footnote b: Ý Would mangle, still, the dead, in spite of truth. [4to] return
Footnote c: Ý Shall, therefore, dastard tongues assail the name Of him, whose virtues claim eternal fame? [4to] return
Footnote d: Ý and all his errors. [4to] return
Footnote e: Ý He died, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight Of cares oppressing our unhappy state. But lo! another Hercules appeared. [4to] return
Footnote f: Ý He too is dead who still our England propp'd With him our fast reviving hopes have dropp'd. [4to] return
Footnote g: Ý And give the palm. [4to] return
Footnote h: Ý But let not canker'd Calumny assail And round. [4to] return
Footnote i: Ý And friends and foes. [4to] return
Footnote j: Ý --would dare to ask. [4to] return
Contents
To a Lady who Presented to the Author a Lock of Hair Braided with his own, and appointed a Night in December to meet him in the Garden1
These locks, which fondly thus entwine, In firmer chains our hearts confine, Than all th' unmeaning protestations Which swell with nonsense, love orations. Our love is fix'd, I think we've prov'd it; Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov'd it; Then wherefore should we sigh and whine, With groundless jealousy repine; With silly whims, and fancies frantic, Merely to make our love romantic? Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish, And fret with self-created anguish? Or doom the lover you have chosen, On winter nights to sigh half frozen; In leafless shades, to sue for pardon, Only because the scene's a garden? For gardens seem, by one consent, (Since Shakespeare set the precedent; Since Juliet first declar'd her passion) To form the place of assignation. Oh! would some modern muse inspire, And seat her by a sea-coal fire; Or had the bard at Christmas written, And laid the scene of love in Britain; He surely, in commiseration, Had chang'd the place of declaration. In Italy, I've no objection, Warm nights are proper for reflection; But here our climate is so rigid, That love itself, is rather frigid: Think on our chilly situation, And curb this rage for imitation. Then let us meet, as oft we've done, Beneath the influence of the sun; Or, if at midnight I must meet you, Within your mansion let me greet youa: There, we can love for hours together, Much better, in such snowy weather, Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves, That ever witness'd rural loves; Then, if my passion fail to pleaseb, Next night I'll be content to freeze; No more I'll give a loose to laughter, But curse my fate, for ever after2.
Footnote 1: Ý These lines are addressed to the same Mary referred to in the lines beginning, "This faint resemblance of thy charms." (Vide ante, p. 32.) return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý Oh! let me in your chamber greet you. [4to] return
Footnote 2: Ý In the above little piece the author has been accused by some candid readers of introducing the name of a lady [Julia Leacroft] from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time this was written; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in "the tomb of all the Capulets," has been converted, with a trifling alteration of her name, into an English damsel, walking in a garden of their own creation, during the month of December, in a village where the author never passed a winter. Such has been the candour of some ingenious critics. We would advise these liberal commentators on taste and arbiters of decorum to read Shakespeare. Having heard that a very severe and indelicate censure has been passed on the above poem, I beg leave to reply in a quotation from an admired work, Carr's Stranger in France.-- "As we were contemplating a painting on a large scale, in which, among other figures, is the uncovered whole length of a warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of desperation, after having attentively surveyed it through her glass, observed to her party that there was a great deal of indecorum in that picture. Madame S. shrewdly whispered in my ear 'that the indecorum was in the remark.'" [Ed. 1803, cap. xvi. p. 171. Compare the note on verses addressed To a Knot of Ungenerous Critics, p. 213.] return Footnote b: Ý There if my passion [4to. P. on V. Occasions.] return
Contents Contents p.2
To a Beautiful Quaker1
Sweet girl! though only once we met, That meeting I shall ne'er forget; And though we ne'er may meet again, Remembrance will thy form retain; I would not say, "I love," but still, My senses struggle with my will: In vain to drive thee from my breast, My thoughts are more and more represt; In vain I check the rising sighs, Another to the last replies: Perhaps, this is not love, but yet, Our meeting I can ne'er forget. What, though we never silence broke, Our eyes a sweeter language spoke; The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, And tells a tale it never feels: Deceit, the guilty lips impart, And hush the mandates of the heart; But soul's interpreters, the eyes, Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise. As thus our glances oft convers'd, And all our bosoms felt rehears'd, No spirit, from within, reprov'd us, Say rather, "'twas the spirit mov'd us." Though, what they utter'd, I repress, Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess; For as on thee, my memory ponders, Perchance to me, thine also wanders. This, for myself, at least, I'll say, Thy form appears through night, through day; Awake, with it my fancy teems, In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams; The vision charms the hours away, And bids me curse Aurora's ray For breaking slumbers of delight, Which make me wish for endless night. Since, oh! whate'er my future fate, Shall joy or woe my steps await; Tempted by love, by storms beset, Thine image, I can ne'er forget. Alas! again no more we meet, No more our former looks repeat; Then, let me breathe this parting prayer, The dictate of my bosom's care: "May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker, That anguish never can o'ertake her; That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, But bliss be aye her heart's partaker! Oh! may the happy mortal, fateda To be, by dearest ties, related, For her, each hour, new joys discoverb, And lose the husband in the lover! May that fair bosom never know What 'tis to feel the restless woe, Which stings the soul, with vain regret, Of him, who never can forget!" 1806.
Footnote 1: Ý Whom the author saw at Harrowgate. Annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 64 (British Museum). return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý The Quarto inserts the following lines:-- "No jealous passion shall invade, No envy that pure heart pervade;" For he that revels in such charms, Can never seek another's arms. return
Footnote b: Ý new joy discover. [4to] return
Contents Contents p.2
To Lesbia1 a
1. Lesbia! since far from you I've rang'db, Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say, 'tis I, not you, have chang'd, I'd tell you why,--but yet I know not. 2. Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; And Lesbia! we are not much olderc, Since, trembling, first my heart I lost, Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. 3. Sixteen was then our utmost age, Two years have lingering pass'd away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage, At least, I feel disposed to stray, love! 4. "Tis I that am alone to blame, I, that am guilty of love's treason; Since your sweet breast is still the same, Caprice must be my only reason. 5. I do not, love! suspect your truth, With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not; Warm was the passion of my youth, One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. 6. No, no, my flame was not pretended; For, oh! I lov'd you most sincerely; And though our dream at last is ended My bosom still esteems you dearly. 7. No more we meet in yonder bowers; Absence has made me prone to rovingd; But older, firmer hearts than ours Have found monotony in loving. 8. Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd, New beauties, still, are daily bright'ning, Your eye, for conquest beams prepar'de, The forge of love's resistless lightning. 9. Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed, Many will throng, to sigh like me, love! More constant they may prove, indeed; Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love! 1806.
Footnote 1: Ý "The lady's name was Julia Leacroft" (Note by Miss E. Pigot). The word "Julia" (?) is added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 52 (British Museum) return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý To Julia. Ý[4to] return
Footnote b: Ý Julia since. Ý[4to] return
Footnote c: Ý And Julia. Ý[4to] return
Footnote d: Ý Perhaps my soul's too pure for roving. [4to] return
Footnote e: Ý Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd. [4to] return
Contents Contents p.2
To Woman
Woman! experience might have told mea That all must love thee, who behold thee: Surely experience might have taught Thy firmest promises are noughtb; But, plac'd in all thy charms before me, All I forget, but to adore thee. Oh memory! thou choicest blessing, When join'd with hope, when still possessingc; But how much curst by every lover When hope is fled, and passion's over. Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, How prompt are striplings to believe her! How throbs the pulse, when first we view The eye that rolls in glossy blue, Or sparkles black, or mildly throws A beam from under hazel brows! How quick we credit every oath, And hear her plight the willing troth! Fondly we hope 'twill last for ay, When, lo! she changes in a day. This record will for ever stand,' "Woman, thy vows are trac'd in sand."1 d
Footnote 1: Ý The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb. (The last line is not "almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb," but an adaptation of part of a stanza from the Diana of Jorge de Montemajor: "Mirà, el Amor, lo que ordena; Que os viene a hazer creer Cosas dichas por muger, Y escriptas en el arena." Southey, in his Letters from Spain, 1797, pp. 87-91, gives a specimen of the Diana, and renders the lines in question thus: "And Love beheld us from his secret stand, And mark'd his triumph, laughing, to behold me, To see me trust a writing traced in sand, To see me credit what a woman told me." Byron, who at this time had little or no knowledge of Spanish literature, seems to have been struck with Southey's paraphrase, and compressed the quatrain into an epigram. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý Surely, experience. [4to] return
Footnote b: Ý A woman's promises are naught. [4to] return
Footnote c: Ý Here follows, in the Quarto, an additional couplet:-- Thou whisperest, as our hearts are beating, "What oft we've done, we're still repeating," return
Footnote d: Ý A woman's promises are naught. [4to] return
Contents Contents p.2
An Occasional Prologue, Delivered by the Author Previous to the Performance of The Wheel of Fortune at a Private Theatre1
Since the refinement of this polish'd age Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek, Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, And meet indulgence--though she find not fame. Still, not for her alone, we wish respecta, Others appear more conscious of defect: To-night no vet'ran Roscii you behold, In all the arts of scenic action old; No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear; To-night you throng to witness the début Of embryo Actors, to the Drama new: Here, then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try; Clip not our pinions, ere the birds can fly: Failing in this our first attempt to soar, Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise; But all our Dramatis Personæ wait, In fond suspense this crisis of their fate. No venal views our progress can retard, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward; For these, each Hero all his power displaysb, Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze: Surely the last will some protection findc? None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind: While Youth and Beauty form the female shieldd, The sternest Censor to the fair must yielde. Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, Should, after all, our best endeavours fail; Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live, And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.
Footnote 1: Ý "I enacted Penruddock, in The Wheel of Fortune, and Tristram Fickle, in the farce of The Weathercock, for three nights, in some private theatricals at Southwell, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition." --Diary; Life, p. 38. The prologue was written by him, between stages, on his way from Harrogate. On getting into the carriage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion, "Now, Pigot, I'll spin a prologue for our play;" and before they reached Mansfield he had completed his task,--interrupting only once his rhyming reverie, to ask the proper pronunciation of the French word début; and, on being told it, exclaiming, "Aye, that will do for rhyme to 'new.'" --Life, p. 39. "The Prologue was spoken by G. Wylde, Esq." Note by Miss E. Pigot. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý But not for her alone. [4to] return
Footnote b: Ý For them each Hero. [4to] return
Footnote c: Ý Surely these last. [4to] return
Footnote d: Ý Whilst Youth [4to P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote e: Ý The sternest critic [4to] return
Contents Contents p.2
To Elizaa
1. Eliza1! what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who, to woman, deny the soul's future existence; Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistanceb. 2. Had their Prophet possess'd half an atom of sensec, He ne'er would have woman from Paradise driven; Instead of his Houris, a flimsy pretenced, With woman alone he had peopled his Heaven. 3. Yet, still, to increase your calamities moree, Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit, He allots one poor husband to share amongst fourf!-- With souls you'd dispense; but, this last, who could bear it? 4. His religion to please neither party is made; On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil; Still I can't contradictg, what so oft has been said, "Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil." 5. This terrible truth, even Scripture has told2, Ye Benedicks! hear me, and listen with rapture; If a glimpse of redemption you wish to behold, Of St. Matt.--read the second and twentieth chapter. 6. 'Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex'd, With wives who eternal confusion are spreading; "But in Heaven" (so runs the Evangelists' Text) "We neither have giving in marriage, or wedding." 7. From this we suppose, (as indeed well we may,) That should Saints after death, with their spouses put up more, And wives, as in life, aim at absolute sway, All Heaven would ring with the conjugal uproar. 8. Distraction and Discord would follow in course, Nor Matthew, nor Mark, nor St. Paul, can deny it, The only expedient is general divorce, To prevent universal disturbance and riot. 9. But though husband and wife, shall at length be disjoin'd, Yet woman and man ne'er were meant to dissever, Our chains once dissolv'd, and our hearts unconfin'd, We'll love without bonds, but we'll love you for ever. 10. Though souls are denied you by fools and by rakes, Should you own it yourselves, I would even then doubt you, Your nature so much of celestial partakes, The Garden of Eden would wither without you. Southwell, October 9, 1806.
Footnote 1: Ý The letters "E. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 26 (British Museum). The initials stand for Miss Elizabeth Pigot. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý To Miss E. P. [4to] To Miss—— P. on V. Occasions. return
Footnote 2: Ý Stanzas 5-10, which appear in the Quarto, were never reprinted. return Footnote b: Ý Did they know but yourself they would bend with respect, And this doctrine must meet [MS. Newstead] return
Footnote c: Ý But an atom of sense. [4to] return
Footnote d: Ý But instead of his Houris. [4to] return
Footnote e: Ý But still to increase. [4to] return
Footnote f: Ý He allots but one husband. [4to] return
Footnote g: Ý But I can't-- [4to] return
Contents Contents p.2
The Tear
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater Felix! in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit1. Gray, 'Alcaic Fragment'. 1. When Friendship or Love Our sympathies move; When Truth, in a glance, should appear, The lips may beguile, With a dimple or smile, But the test of affection's a Tear. 2. Too oft is a smile But the hypocrite's wile, To mask detestation, or fear; Give me the soft sigh, Whilst the soul-telling eye Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear. 3. Mild Charity's glow, To us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt, Where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a Tear. 4. The man, doom'd to sail With the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave Which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a Tear. 5. The Soldier braves death For a fanciful wreath In Glory's romantic career; But he raises the foe When in battle laid low, And bathes every wound with a Tear. 6. If, with high-bounding pridea, He return to his bride! Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear; All his toils are repaid When, embracing the maid, From her eyelid he kisses the Tear. 7. Sweet scene of my youth2! Seat of Friendship and Truth, Where Love chas'd each fast-fleeting year; Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, For a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. 8. Though my vows I can pour, To my Mary no more3, My Mary, to Love once so dear, In the shade of her bow'r, I remember the hour, She rewarded those vows with a Tear. 9. By another possest, May she live ever blest! Her name still my heart must revere: With a sigh I resign, What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear. 10. Ye friends of my heart, Ere from you I depart, This hope to my breast is most near: If again we shall meet, In this rural retreat, May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. 11. When my soul wings her flight To the regions of night, And my corse shall recline on its bierb; As ye pass by the tomb, Where my ashes consume, Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear. 12. May no marble bestow The splendour of woe, Which the children of Vanity rear; No fiction of fame Shall blazon my name, All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear. October 26, 1806c.
Footnote 1: Ý The motto was prefixed in Hours of Idleness. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý When with high-bounding pride, He returns... [4to] return
Footnote 2: Ý Harrow. return Footnote b: Ý And my body shall sleep on its bier. [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote 3: Ý Miss Chaworth was married in 1805. return Footnote c: Ý BYRON, October 26, 1806. [4to] return
Contents Contents p.2
Reply to some Verses of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq., on the Cruelty of his Mistress1
1. Why, Pigot, complain Of this damsel's disdain, Why thus in despair do you fret? For months you may try, Yet, believe me, a sigha Will never obtain a coquette. 2. Would you teach her to love? For a time seem to rove; At first she may frown in a pet; But leave her awhile, She shortly will smile, And then you may kiss your coquette. 3. For such are the airs Of these fanciful fairs, They think all our homage a debt: Yet a partial neglectb Soon takes an effect, And humbles the proudest coquette. 4. Dissemble your pain, And lengthen your chain, And seem her hauteur to regretc; If again you shall sigh, She no more will deny, That yours is the rosy coquette. 5. If still, from false prided, Your pangs she deride, This whimsical virgin forget; Some other admire, Who will melt with your fire, And laugh at the little coquette. 6. For me, I adore Some twenty or more, And love them most dearly; but yet, Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all, Did they act like your blooming coquette. 7. No longer repine, Adopt this designe, And break through her slight-woven net! Away with despair, No longer forbear To fly from the captious coquette. 8. Then quit her, my friend! Your bosom defend, Ere quite with her snares you're beset: Lest your deep-wounded heart, When incens'd by the smart, Should lead you to curse the coquette. October 27, 1806f.
Footnote 1: Ý The letters "C. B. F. J. B. M." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 14 (British Museum). return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý But believe me [4to] return
Footnote b: Ý But a partial... [4to] return
Footnote c: Ý Nor seem... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote d: Ý But if from false pride... [4to] return
Footnote e: Ý But form this design... [4to] return
Footnote f: Ý BYRON, October 27, 1806.. [4to] return
Contents Contents p.2
Granta. A Medley
(Reply of the Pythian Oracle to Philip of Macedon.) 1. Oh! could Le Sage's2 demon's gift Be realis'd at my desire, This night my trembling form he'd lift To place it on St. Mary's spirea. 2. Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls, Pedantic inmates full display; Fellows who dream on lawn or stalls, The price of venal votes to payb. 3. Then would I view each rival wight, Petty and Palmerston survey; Who canvass there, with all their mightc, Against the next elective day3. 4. Lo! candidates and voters lied All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number! A race renown'd for piety, Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber. 5. Lord H——4 indeed, may not demur; Fellows are sage, reflecting men: They know preferment can occur, But very seldom,--now and then. 6. They know the Chancellor has got Some pretty livings in disposal: Each hopes that one may be his lot, And, therefore, smiles on his proposale. 7. Now from the soporific scenef I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, To view, unheeded and unseeng, The studious sons of Alma Mater. 8. There, in apartments small and damp, The candidate for college prizes, Sits poring by the midnight lamp; Goes late to bed, yet early risesh. 9. He surely well deserves to gain them, With all the honours of his collegei, Who, striving hardly to obtain them, Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge: 10. Who sacrifices hours of rest, To scan precisely metres Attic; Or agitates his anxious breastj, In solving problems mathematic: 11. Who reads false quantities in Seale5, Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle; Depriv'd of many a wholesome mealk; In barbarous Latin6 doom'd to wrangle: 12. Renouncing every pleasing page, From authors of historic use; Preferring to the letter'd sage, The square of the hypothenuse7. 13. Still, harmless are these occupationsm, That hurt none but the hapless student, Compar'd with other recreations, Which bring together the imprudent; 14. Whose daring revels shock the sight, When vice and infamy combine, When Drunkenness and dice inviten, As every sense is steep'd in wine. 15. Not so the methodistic crew, Who plans of reformation lay: In humble attitude they sue, And for the sins of others pray: 16. Forgetting that their pride of spirit, Their exultation in their trial0, Detracts most largely from the merit Of all their boasted self-denial. 17. 'Tis morn:--from these I turn my sight: What scene is this which meets the eye? A numerous crowd array'd in white8, Across the green in numbers fly. 18. Loud rings in air the chapel bell; 'Tis hush'd:--what sounds are these I hear? The organ's soft celestial swell Rolls deeply on the listening ear. 19. To this is join'd the sacred song, The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain; Though he who hears the music longp, Will never wish to hear again. 20. Our choir would scarcely be excus'd, E'en as a band of raw beginners; All mercy, now, must be refus'dq To such a set of croaking sinners. 21. If David, when his toils were ended, Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended,-- In furious mood he would have tore 'em. 22. The luckless Israelites, when taken By some inhuman tyrant's order, Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken, On Babylonian river's border. 23. Oh! had they sung in notes like theser Inspir'd by stratagem or fear, They might have set their hearts at ease, The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. 24. But if I scribble longer nows, The deuce a soul will stay to read; My pen is blunt, my ink is low; 'Tis almost time to stop, indeed. 25. Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires! No more, like Cleofas, I fly; No more thy theme my Muse inspires: The reader's tir'd, and so am I. October 28, 1806.
Footnote 1: Ý The motto was prefixed in Hours of Idleness: "Fight with silver spears" (i. e. with bribes), "and them shall prevail in all things." return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý And place it... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote 2: Ý The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection. [Don Cleofas, clinging to the cloak of Asmodeus, is carried through the air to the summit of S. Salvador.] return Footnote b: Ý The price of hireling... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote 3: Ý On the death of Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry Petty beat Lord Palmerston in the contest for the representation of the University of Cambridge in Parliament. return Footnote c: Ý Who canvass now... [4to] return
Footnote 4: Ý Probably Lord Henry Petty. See variant d. return Footnote d: Ý One on his power and place depends, The other on--the Lord knows what! Each to some eloquence pretends, But neither will convince by that. The first, indeed, may not demur; Fellows are sage reflecting men, And know... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote 5: ÝScale's publication on Greek Metres displays considerable talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is not remarkable for accuracy. (An Analysis of the Greek Metres; for the use of students at the University of Cambridge. By John Barlow Seale (1764), 8vo. A fifth edition was issued in 1807.) return Footnote e: Ý And therefore smiles at his... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote 6: ÝThe Latin of the schools is of the canine species, and not very intelligible. return Footnote f: Ý Now from Corruption's shameless scene... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote 7: Ý The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right-angled triangle. return Footnote g: Ý And view unseen... [4to] return
Footnote 8: Ý On a saint's day the students wear surplices in chapel. return Footnote h: Ý and early rises... [4to] return
Footnote i: Ý And all the... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote j: Ý And agitates... [4to] return
Footnote k: Ý And robs himself of many a meal... [4to] return
Footnote m: Ý But harmless are these occupations... Which... [4to] return
Footnote n: Ý When Drunkenness and dice unite. And every sense... [4to P. on V. Occasions] return
Footnote o: Ý And exultation... [4to] return
Footnote p: Ý But he... [4to] return
Footnote q: Ý But mercy... [4to] return
Footnote r: Ý But had they sung... [4to] return
Footnote s: Ý But if I write much longer now... [4to] return
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To the Sighing Strephon1
1. Your pardon, my friend, If my rhymes did offend, Your pardon, a thousand times o'er; From friendship I strove, Your pangs to remove, But, I swear, I will do so no more. 2. Since your beautiful maid, Your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret; She's now most divine, And I bow at the shrine, Of this quickly reformèd coquette. 3. Yet still, I must owna, I should never have known, From your verses, what else she deserv'd; Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate, As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd. 4. Since the balm-breathing kissb Of this magical Miss, Can such wonderful transports producec; Since the "world you forget, When your lips once have met," My counsel will get but abuse. 5. You say, "When I rove," "I know nothing of love;" Tis true, I am given to range; If I rightly remember, I've lov'd a good numberd; Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change. 6. I will not advancee, By the rules of romance, To humour a whimsical fair; Though a smile may delight, Yet a frown will affrightf, Or drive me to dreadful despair. 7. While my blood is thus warm, I ne'er shall reform, To mix in the Platonists' school; Of this I am sure, Was my Passion so pure, Thy Mistress would think me a foolg. 8h And if I should shun, Every woman for one, Whose image must fill my whole breast; Whom I must prefer, And sigh but for her, What an insult 'twould be to the rest! 9. Now Strephon, good-bye; I cannot deny, Your passion appears most absurd; Such love as you plead, Is pure love, indeed, For it only consists in the word.
Footnote 1: Ý The letters "J. M. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 17 (British Museum). return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý But still... [4to] return
Footnote b: Ý But since the chaste kiss... [4to] return
Footnote c: Ý Such wonderful... [4to] return
Footnote d: Ý I've kiss'd a good number. But--... [4to] return
Footnote e: Ý I ne'er will advance... [4to] return
Footnote f: Ý Yet a frown won't affright... [4to P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote g: Ý My mistress must think me... [4to P. on V. Occasions.] return
Footnote h: Ý Though the kisses are sweet, Which voluptuously meet, Of kissing I ne'er was so fond, As to make me forget, Though our lips oft have met, That still there was something beyond.... [4to] return
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The Cornelian1
1. No specious splendour of this stone Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre only once it shone, And blushes modest as the givera. 2. Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties, Have, for my weakness, oft reprov'd me; Yet still the simple gift I prize, For I am sure, the giver lov'd me. 3. He offer'd it with downcast look, As fearful that I might refuse it; I told him, when the gift I took, My only fear should be, to lose it. 4. This pledge attentively I view'd, And sparkling as I held it near, Methought one drop the stone bedew'd, And, ever since, I've lov'd a tear. 5. Still, to adorn his humble youth, Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; But he, who seeks the flowers of truth, Must quit the garden, for the field. 6. 'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth, Which beauty shews, and sheds perfume; The flowers, which yield the most of both, In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. 7. Had Fortune aided Nature's care, For once forgetting to be blind, His would have been an ample share, If well proportioned to his mind. 8. But had the Goddess clearly seen, His form had fix'd her fickle breast; Her countless hoards would his have been, And none remain'd to give the rest.
Footnote 1: Ý The cornelian was a present from his friend Edleston, a Cambridge chorister, afterwards a clerk in a mercantile house in London. Edleston died of consumption, May 11, 1811. (See letter from Byron to Miss Pigot, October 28, 1811.) Their acquaintance began by Byron saving him from drowning. (MS. note by the Rev. W. Harness.) return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý But blushes modest... [4to] return
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To M——a
1. Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire, With bright, but mild affection shine: Though they might kindle less desire, Love, more than mortal, would be thine. 2. For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair; That fatal glance forbids esteem. 3. When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth, So much perfection in thee shone, She fear'd that, too divine for earth, The skies might claim thee for their own. 4. Therefore, to guard her dearest work, Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk, Within those once celestial eyes. 5. These might the boldest Sylph appall, When gleaming with meridian blaze; Thy beauty must enrapture all; But who can dare thine ardent gaze? 6. 'Tis said that Berenice's hair, In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there, Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. 7. For did those eyes as planets roll, Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now controul, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere1. Friday, November 7, 1806
Footnote 1: Ý "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do intreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return." Shakespeare. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý To A... [4to] return
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Lines Addressed to a Young Lady1.
(As the Author was discharging his Pistols in a Garden, Two Ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a Bullet hissing near them, to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning)2.
1. Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead, Wafting destruction o'er thy charmsa And hurtling o'er3 thy lovely head, Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms. 2. Surely some envious Demon's force, Vex'd to behold such beauty here, Impell'd the bullet's viewless course, Diverted from its first career. 3. Yes! in that nearly fatal hour, The ball obey'd some hell-born guide; But Heaven, with interposing power, In pity turn'd the death aside. 4. Yet, as perchance one trembling tear Upon that thrilling bosom fell; Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear, Extracted from its glistening cell;-- 5. Say, what dire penance can atone For such an outrage, done to thee? Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne, What punishment wilt thou decree? 6. Might I perform the Judge's part, The sentence I should scarce deplore; It only would restore a heart, Which but belong'd to thee before. 7. The least atonement I can make Is to become no longer free; Henceforth, I breathe but for thy sake, Thou shalt be all in all to me. 8. But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject Such expiation of my guilt; Come then--some other mode elect? Let it be death--or what thou wilt. 9. Choose, then, relentless! and I swear Nought shall thy dread decree prevent; Yet hold--one little word forbear! Let it be aught but banishment.
Footnote 1: Ý This title first appeared in "Contents" to P. on V. Occasions return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý near thy charms... [4to] return
Footnote 2: Ý The occurrence took place at Southwell, and the beautiful lady to whom the lines were addressed was Miss Houson, who is also commemorated in the verses To a Vain Lady and To Anne. She was the daughter of the Rev. Henry Houson of Southwell, and married the Rev. Luke Jackson. She died on Christmas Day, 1821, and her monument may be seen in Hucknall Torkard Church. return
Footnote 3: Ý This word is used by Gray in his poem to the Fatal Sisters:-- "Iron-sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darken'd air." return
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Translation from Catullus. Ad Lesbiam
Equal to Jove that youth must be-- Greater than Jove he seems to me-- Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, Securely views thy matchless charms; That cheek, which ever dimpling glows, That mouth, from whence such music flows, To him, alike, are always known, Reserv'd for him, and him alone. Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me, I cannot choose but look on thee; But, at the sight, my senses fly, I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die; Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres, My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, My limbs deny their slight support; Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, With deadly languor droops my head, My ears with tingling echoes ring, And Life itself is on the wing; My eyes refuse the cheering light, Their orbs are veil'd in starless night: Such pangs my nature sinks beneath, And feels a temporary death.
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Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullus, by Domitius Marsus
He who, sublime, in epic numbers roll'd, And he who struck the softer lyre of Love, By Death's unequal1 hand alike controul'd, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!
Footnote 1:
Ý The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus at his decease.
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Imitation of Tibullus. Sulpicia ad Cerinthum
Lib. Quart.
Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell diseasea Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please? Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain, That I might live for Love and you again; But, now, I scarcely shall bewail my fate: By Death alone I can avoid your hate.
Footnote a:
Ý
does this fell disease...
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Translation from Catullus. Lugete Veneres Cupidinesque
Carm. III
a
Ye Cupids, droop each little head, Nor let your wings with joy be spread, My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, Whom dearer than her eyes she lov'db: For he was gentle, and so true, Obedient to her call he flew, No fear, no wild alarm he knew, But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd: And softly fluttering here and there, He never sought to cleave the air, He chirrup'd oft, and, free from carec, Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain. Now having pass'd the gloomy bournd, From whence he never can return, His death, and Lesbia's grief I mourn, Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain. Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave! Whose jaws eternal victims crave, From whom no earthly power can save, For thou hast ta'en the bird away: From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow, Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow; Thou art the cause of all her woe, Receptacle of life's decay.
Footnote a:
Ý
Luctus De Morte Passeris
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Footnote b:
Ý
Which dearer
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Footnote c:
Ý
But chirrup'd
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Footnote d:
Ý
But now he's pass'd
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Imitated from Catullus1. To Ellena
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceedb The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist?--ah! never--never. November 16, 1806.
Footnote 1: Ý From a note in Byron's copy of Catullus (now in the possession of Mr. Murray), it is evident that these lines are based on Carm. xlviii., Mellitos oculos tuos, Juventi. return to footnote mark Footnote a: Ý To Anna. Ý[4to] return
Footnote b: Ý E'en though the number... [4to. Three first Editions.] return
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