Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your Through hours, through years, through soft brow, Nor deem me too happy in this; If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss. Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh, think not my penance deficient ! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient. TO MARY ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE [The 'Mary' of this poem is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or 'Mary' of Aberdeen.] 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. Here I can trace the locks of gold The lips which made me beauty's slave. 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. Here I behold its beauteous hue; But where's the beam so sweetly straying, Which gave a lustre to its blue, Like Luna o'er the ocean playing? Sweet copy far more dear to me, Save her who placed thee next my heart. She placed it, sad, with needless fear, Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there time, 't will cheer; My hope in gloomy moments raise; In life's last conflict 't will appear, And meet my fond expiring gaze. TO LESBIA [The Lesbia of this poem is Julia Leacroft.] LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged, Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say 't is I, not you, have changed, I'd tell you why, but yet I know not. Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; And, Lesbia! we are not much older, Since, trembling, first my heart I lost, Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. Sixteen was then our utmost age, Two years have lingering past away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage, At least I feel disposed to stray, love! "T is 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. I do not, love! suspect your truth, One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. 20 29 [Moore applies these lines to Byron himself: E. H. Coleridge with more probability regards them as a satirical sketch of some acquaintance.] IN law an infant and in years a boy, In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend; Damætas ran through all the maze of sin, Even still conflicting passions shake his sou And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure' bowl; But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his forme chain, And what was once his bliss appears hi bane. TO MARION 6 10 [To Harriet Maltby, who was cold, silent and reserved' on meeting the poet.] MARION, why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air; Frowns become not one so fair. "T is not love disturbs thy rest, Love's a stranger to thy breast; He in dimpling smiles appears, Or mourns in sweetly timid tears, Or bends the languid eyelid down, But shuns the cold forbidding frown. Then resume thy former fire, Some will love, and all admire; While that icy aspect chills us, Nought but cool indifference thrills us. Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile, Smile at least, or seem to smile. Eyes like thine were never meant To hide their orbs in dark restraint; Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, Still in truant beams they play. Thy lips but here my modest Muse Her impulse chaste must needs refuse: She blushes, curt'sies, frowns in short she Dreads lest the subject should transport me; And flying off in search of reason, Brings prudence back in proper season. All I shall therefore say (whate'er 20 I think, is neither here nor there) This warning, though it may delight not; 41 50 Had changed the place of declaration. Warm nights are proper for reflection; 30 40 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 GARDEN [This poem is addressed to the 'Mary' of the lines beginning, 'This faint resemblance of thy charms.'] ΤΟ THESE locks, which fondly thus entwine, Or had the bard at Christmas written, 20 OSCAR OF ALVA A TALE ['The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of Jeronymo and Lorenzo, in the first volume of Schiller's Armenian, or the Ghost-Seer. It also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of Macbeth.' - BYRON, Note.] How sweetly shines through azure skies, The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, And hear the din of arms no more. But often has yon rolling moon On Alva's casques of silver play'd; And view'd, at midnight's silent noon, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd: And on the crimson'd rocks beneath, Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, She saw the gasping warrior low; While many an eye which ne'er again Once to those eyes the lamp of Love, 10 20 We hence may meet, and pass each other by, Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught If these, but let me cease the lengthen'd |