Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been A single recollection, not in vain Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, A sound which makes us linger; yet If such there were with you, the moral of farewell! his strain! SHORTER POEMS [It has seemed advisable to the present editor to change the order in which Byron's works have always been printed, and to bring together in one general section all the Shorter Poems. This arrangement, it is believed, will facilitate considerably the use of the volume in reference. Nor is any real offence committed against the chronological ordering of the works, desirable as that may be for obvious reasons. As these miscellaneous and occasional pieces were written in many cases while the composition of the longer poems was in process, any absolute arrangement by dates is, indeed, impossible. Here we have, in this section, a continuous and personal record in verse, so to speak, of Byron's life. The greatness and versatility of his lyrical powers are also made more apparent by the coup d'œil thus afforded.] HOURS OF IDLENESS A SERIES OF POEMS, ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED [The title Hours of Idleness is really applied to a miscellaneous collection of Byron's juvenile poems. His first book, Fugitive Pieces, was printed anonymously by S. and J. Ridge, of Newark, in 1806. This edition, which contained thirty-eight pieces, was soon suppressed, and only a single copy, in the possession of Mr. H. Buxton Forman, is known to exist. A second edition, containing forty-eight poems and entitled Poems on Various Occasions, was printed by the same firm in the next year. Again in the same year this firm published Byron's Hours of Idleness, with his name now attached. This volume included nineteen from the Fugitive Pieces, eight from the Poems on Various Occasions, and twelve now first printed, thirty-nine in all. A fourth edition was issued, in 1808, by the same house, under the title Poems Original and Translated, containing thirty-eight pieces. The name, Hours of Idleness, first made famous by the review in the Edinburgh, has in all later editions been attached to the general collection of Byron's earlier poems.] Virginibus puerisque canto. - HORACE, lib. iii. Ode 1. Μήτ' ἄρ με μάλ' αίνει, μήτε τι νείκει. HOMER, Iliad, x. 249. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FREDERICK, EARL OF CARLISLE THE SECOND EDITION OF THESE POEMS IS INSCRIBED PREFACE In submitting to the public eye the following collection, I have not only to combat the difficulties that writers of verse generally en THE AUTHOR counter, but may incur the charge of presumption for obtruding myself on the world, when, without doubt, I might be, at my age, more usefully employed. These productions are the fruits of the lighter hours of a young man who has lately completed his nineteenth year. As they bear the internal evidence of a boyish mind, this is, perhaps, unnecessary information. Some few were written during the disadvantages of illness and depression of spirits: 'under the former influence, Childish Recollections, in particular, were composed. This consideration, though it cannot excite the voice of praise, may at least arrest the arm of censure. A considerable portion of these poems has been privately printed, at the request and for the perusal of my friends. I am sensible that the partial and frequently injudicious admiration of a social circle is not the criterion by which poetical genius is to be estimated, yet, 'to do greatly' we must dare greatly;' and I have hazarded my reputation and feelings in publishing this volume. 'I have passed the Rubicon,' and must stand or fall by the cast of the die.' In the latter event, I shall submit without a murmur; for, though not without solicitude for the fate of these effusions, my expectations are by no means sanguine. It is probable that I may have dared much and done little; for, in the words of Cowper, 'it is one thing to write what may please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a little biassed in our favour, and another to write what may please everybody; because they who have no connection, or even knowledge of the author, will be sure to find fault if they can.' To the truth of this, however, I do not wholly subscribe; on the contrary, I feel convinced that these trifles will not be treated with injustice. Their merit, if they possess any, will be liberally allowed; 6 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM ['My first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of a passion for my first cousin, Margaret Parker.' - Diary, 1821. In a note, however, he says he was fourteen when the poem was composed.] HUSH'D are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return, to view my Margaret's tomb, And scatter flowers on the dust I love. Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay, where once such animation beam'd; their numerous faults, on the other hand, c not expect that favour which has been denied others of maturer years, decided character, a far greater ability. I have not aimed at exclusive originality, st less have I studied any particular model 1 imitation: some translations are given, which many are paraphrastic. In the origin pieces there may appear a casual coinciden with authors whose works I have been accu tomed to read; but I have not been guil of intentional plagiarism. To produce an thing entirely new, in an age so fertile rhyme, would be an Herculean task, as ever subject has already been treated to its utmo extent. Poetry, however, is not my prima vocation; to divert the dull moments of indi position, or the monotony of a vacant hou urged me to this sin:' little can be expecte from so unpromising a muse. My wreath scanty as it must be, is all I shall derive from these productions; and I shall never attemp to replace its fading leaves, or pluck a singl additional sprig from groves where I am, a best, an intruder. Though accustomed, in m younger days, to rove a careless mountainee on the Highlands of Scotland, I have not, o late years, had the benefit of such pure air, o so elevated a residence, as might enable me to enter the lists with genuine bards, who have enjoyed both these advantages. But they de rive considerable fame, and a few not less profit from their productions; while I shall expiate my rashness as an interloper, certainly without the latter, and in all probability with a very slight share of the former. And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign, And, madly, godlike Providence accuse ? Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse. Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. 1802. TO E [To the son of one of Byron's tenants at Newstead.] LET Folly smile, to view the names Of thee and me in friendship twined; Yet Virtue will have greater claims To love, than rank with vice combined. And though unequal is thy fate, Since title deck'd my higher birth! Yet envy not this gaudy state; Thine is the pride of modest worth. Our souls at least congenial meet, Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace; Our intercourse is not less sweet, Since worth of rank supplies the place. November, 1802. TO D [To George John, fifth Earl Delawarr.] In thee, I fondly hoped to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. True, she has forced thee from my breast, Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat; There, there thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat. And, when the grave restores her dead, EPITAPH ON A FRIEND Αστὴρ πρὶν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνὶ ζωοῖσιν έφος. — LAERTIUS. [Quoted from Plato's epigram.] Он, Friend, for ever loved, for ever dear! 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 lived 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, No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, Raise a flame in the breast for the warlaurell'd wreath; 10 Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan slumbers, WRITTEN IN 'LETTERS TO AN ITALIAN Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by May now betray some simpler hearts; death. Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressy; For the safety of Edward and England they fell: My fathers! the tears of your country redress ye; How you fought, how you died, still her annals can tell. And you will smile at their believing, ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED DEAR, simple girl, those flattering arts, Exist but in imagination, Mere phantoms of thine own creation; Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, July, 1804. ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS Animula vagula, blandula, АH! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite, To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight? No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. 1806. TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS AD LESBIAM [Catullus's translation of the famous ode of Sappho.] EQUAL to Jove that youth must be My limbs deny their slight support, Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, etc. YE Cupids, droop each little head, And softly fluttering here and there, Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. |