Streamlet! along whose rippling surge, At noontide heat their pliant course; And shall I here forget the scene, And thou, my Friend! whose gentle love Of Love the pure, the sacred gem; All, all is dark and cheerless now! Can warm my veins with wonted glow, Not e'en the hope of future fame Can wake my faint, exhausted frame, 50 60 70 Or crown with fancied wreaths my head. Oh Fame! thou goddess of my heart; When I repose beneath the sod, 80 90 Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone Could bid me from fond admiration refrain; By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown, Till smiles should restore me to rapture again. As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwined, The rage of the tempest united must weather, My love and my life were by nature design'd To flourish alike, or to perish together. Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu; Till Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed, His soul, his existence, are centred in you. 1807. [First published, 1832.] [The poet once told Lady Byron that he had two natural children, and one of these may possibly have been the subject of this poem; but in all likelihood it is purely fictitious.] THOSE flaxen locks, those eyes of blue, Bright as thy mother's in their hue; Those rosy lips, whose dimples play And smile to steal the heart away, Recall a scene of former joy, And touch thy father's heart, my Boy! And thou canst lisp a father's name — Her lowly grave the turf has prest, And yields thee scarce a name on earth; 10 Yet shall not these one hope destroy, - Why, let the world unfeeling frown, Oh, 't will be sweet in thee to trace, Although so young thy heedless sire, SONG 20 30 [First published in the Edition of 1898 from a manuscript in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.] BREEZE of the night in gentler sighs More softly murmur o'er the pillow; For Slumber seals my Fanny's eyes, And Peace must never shun her pillow. Or breathe those sweet Eolian strains Stolen from celestial spheres above, To charm her ear while some remains, And soothe her soul to dreams of love. But Breeze of night again forbear, To lift those auburn locks on high. Chill is thy Breath thou breeze of night! Blest be that lip and azure eye! Sweet Fanny, hallow'd be thy Sleep! Those lips shall never vent a sigh, Those eyes may never wake to weep. February 23, 1808. |