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When the box of Pandora was open'd on
earth,

And Misery's triumph commenced over
Mirth,

Hope was left, was she not? - but the
goblet we kiss,

My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one.

The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
Where friendship's or love's softer glow

And care not for Hope, who are certain of May smile in joy or soothe in woe;

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But friend or leman I have none,
Because I cannot love but one.

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Of what we are, and what we 've been,
Would whelm some softer hearts with

woe

But mine, alas! has stood the blow;
Yet still beats on as it begun,
And never truly loves but one.

And who that dear loved one may be,
Is not for vulgar eyes to see;
And why that early love was crost,
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most;
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one.

I've tried another's fetters too
With charms perchance as fair to view;
And I would fain have loved as well,
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for aught but one.

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'T would soothe to take one lingering view,
And bless thee in my last adieu;

Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For him that wanders o'er the deep;

His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
Yet still he loves, and loves but one.
1809.

LINES TO MR. HODGSON

WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET

HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going,

Our embargo's off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing

Bend the canvass o'er the mast.

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Oh, may the storm that pours on me,
Bow down my head alone!

Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I press'd thy lip;
And long ere now, with foaming shock,
Impell❜d thy gallant ship.

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
"T were hard if aught so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.

And since I now remember thee
In darkness and in dread,
As in those hours of revelry

Which mirth and music sped;

Do thou, amid the fair white walls, If Cadiz yet be free,

At times from out her latticed halls Look o'er the dark blue sea;

Then think upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by;
To others give a thousand smiles,
To me a single sigh.

And when the admiring circle mark
The paleness of thy face,

A half-form'd tear, a transient spark
Of melancholy grace,

Again thou 'lt smile, and blushing shun
Some coxcomb's raillery;

Nor own for once thou thought'st on one, Who ever thinks on thee.

Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
When sever'd hearts repine,
My spirit flies o'er mount and main,
And mourns in search of thine.
[First published, 1812.]

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN PASSING THE AMBRACIAN

GULF

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THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, Full beams the moon on Actium's coast;

And on these waves, for Egypt's queen,
The ancient world was won and lost.

And now upon the scene I look,

The azure grave of many a Roman;
Where stern Ambition once forsook
His wavering crown to follow woman.

Florence! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung
(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell),
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;

Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times,
When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes:
Had bards as many realms as rhymes,
Thy charms might raise new Antonies.

Though Fate forbids such things to be,
Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd!
I cannot lose a world for thee,

But would not lose thee for a world.
November 14, 1809. [First published, 1812.]

'THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN'

WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810

THE spell is broke, the charm is flown!
Thus is it with life's fitful fever:
We madly smile when we should groan;
Delirium is our best deceiver.

Each lucid interval of thought

Recalls the woes of Nature's charter; And he that acts as wise men ought, But lives, as saints have died, a martyr. [First published, 1812.]

THE GIRL OF CADIZ

[This poem stood in the original manuscript of Childe Harold in the place of the stanzas of Canto I. inscribed To Inez.]

Он never talk again to me

Of northern climes and British ladies; It has not been your lot to see, Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. Although her eye be not of blue, Nor fair her locks, like English lasses, How far its own expressive hue

The languid azure eye surpasses!

Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole The fire, that through those silken lashes

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In darkest glances seems to roll,
From eyes that cannot hide their flashes:
And as along her bosom steal

In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curl'd to give her neck caresses.

Our English maids are long to woo,
And frigid even in possession;
And if their charms be fair to view,

Their lips are slow at Love's confession:

But, born beneath a brighter sun,

For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is, And who, when fondly, fairly won, Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz ?

The Spanish maid is no coquette,

Nor joys to see a lover tremble, And if she love, or if she hate,

Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; And, though it will not bend to gold,

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"T were hard to say who fared the best: Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!

He lost his labour, I my jest;

For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. May 9, 1810. [First published, 1812.]

'MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART'

Ζώη μου, σάς ἀγαπῶ,

[Supposed to be Theresa Macri, who afterwards married Mr. Black, an Englishman.]

MAID of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
Ζώη μου, σάς ἀγαπῶ.

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each gean wind;

By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ.

By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist;

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