By all the token-flowers that tell Maid of Athens ! I am gone: ATHENS, 1810. [First published, 1812.] FRAGMENT FROM THE 'MONK OF ATHOS' [First published in Noel's Life of Lord Byron, 1890. The manuscript was given to the author of the Life by S. McCalmont Hill, who inherited it from his great-grandfather, Robert Dallas. The date and occasion of the poem are unknown.] BESIDE the confines of the Egean main, Where northward Macedonia bounds the flood, And views opposed the Asiatic plain, Where once the pride of lofty Ilion stood, Like the great Father of the giant brood, With lowering port majestic Athos stands, Crown'd with the verdure of eternal wood, As yet unspoil'd by sacrilegious hands, And throws his mighty shade o'er seas and distant lands. Let your country see you rising, Oh, start again to life! At the sound of my trumpet, breaking Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers Awake and join thy numbers That chief of ancient song, Who saved ye once from falling, Sons of Greeks, etc. 'First published, 1812.] 20 30 TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG Μπένω μεσ ̓ τὸ περιβόλι, I ENTER thy garden of roses, Yet trembles for what it has sung; But the loveliest garden grows hateful When Love has abandon'd the bowers; Bring me hemlock - since mine is ungrateful, That herb is more fragrant than flowers. Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, I ask no pledge to make me blest Nor need I write to tell the tale By day or night, in weal or woe, That heart, no longer free, Must bear the love it cannot show, And silent ache for thee. March, 1811. [First published, 1812.] EPITAPH FOR JOSEPH BLACKET LATE POET AND SHOEMAKER STRANGER! behold, interr'd together, Adieu, ye merchants often failing! Adieu his Excellency's dancers! Of all that strut 'en militaire !' Farewell to these, but not adieu, Triumphant sons of truest blue! While either Adriatic shore, 2C And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more, And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser, 40 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND 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, 10 Whose every thought — but let them passThou 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. 'T were 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 suffer'd more than well "T would 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, Return'd the freezing glance she gave, Yet felt the while that woman's slave; Have kiss'd, as if without design, The babe which ought to have been mine, And show'd, alas! in each caress Time had not made me love the less. 20 30 40 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, When Britain's May is in the sere,' Thou hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes |