II

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess :

The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.

III

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes

down ;

It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is where the ice appears.

IV

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,

Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope

of rest;

'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath,

All

green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

V

Oh, could I feel as I have felt, -
Or weep as I could once have

scene;

or be what I have been, wept, o'er many a vanished

As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet, all brackish though they be,

So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to

me.

NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL

This poem was written in London in 1815, soon after the battle of Waterloo. It is one of several productions concerned with Napoleon," the great Emperor who with the great poet divided the wonder of Europe." The anapæstic meter employed in this and several other of Byron's most popular poems is one that lends itself easily to spirited effects. It was a great favorite with Tom Moore, whose influence is clearly seen both here and elsewhere, as in the Stanzas for Music and Stanzas written between Florence and Pisa.

I

AREWELL to the Land where the gloom of my Glory

FARI

Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name

She abandons me now - but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame.

I have warred with a World which vanquished me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far ;

I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
The last single Captive to millions in war.

II

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,

But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,
Decayed in thy glory and sunk in thy worth.

Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted

In strife with the storm, when their battles were won
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,
Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun!

III

Farewell to thee, France!

but when Liberty rallies

Once more in thy regions, remember me then,

The Violet1 still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again.
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,

And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice

There are links which must break in the chain that has bound

us,

Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

STANZAS FOR MUSIC

(Written in England, March, 1816)

THE

I

HERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;

And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed Ocean's pausing,

The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming:

II

And the Midnight Moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep :

So the spirit bows before thee,

To listen and adore thee;

With a full but soft emotion,

Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

1 The violet: when Napoleon was banished to Elba, in April, 1814, it was predicted by his partisans that he would return to France with the violets in the following spring. For this reason the violet was taken as the Napoleonic emblem. Now, though defeated and exiled, Napoleon is represented in the poem as hoping to return from St. Helena, as he did from Elba.

FARE THEE WELL

The sincerity of this poem, which was written in March, 1816, soon after the separation from Lady Byron and shortly before the poet's final departure from England, has been seriously questioned. It seems almost incredible that any man, even one so spectacular as Byron, could lay bare to the world such emotions. Yet, according to Byron, as quoted by Moore, the verses were written under stress of profound feeling, were not intended for publication, and were given to the public only" through the injudicious zeal of a friend whom he suffered to take a copy."

Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And Constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain.

But never either found another

To free the hollow heart from paining-
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,

But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once hath been.

- COLERIDGE's Christabel

ARE thee well! and if forever,

FARI

Still forever, fare thee well:

Even though unforgiving, never

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee

Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show !
Then thou would'st at last discover
'Twas not well to spurn it so.

Though the world for this commend thee-
Though it smile upon the blow,

Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe :

Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,

Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not-
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
Still thine own its life retaineth

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow

Is

Than the wail above the dead;

Both shall live

- but every morrow

Wake us from a widowed bed.

And when thou would'st solace gather

When our child's first accents flow Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"

Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee
When her lip to thine is pressed

Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee—
Think of him thy love had blessed!

Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou never more may'st see,

Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest -
All my madness-none can know;

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