Once more, upon the mountains high, XIII I saw them, and they were the same, On high their wide long lake below, And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; The only one in view; A small green isle,2 it seemed no more, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue. The fish swam by the castle wall, And they seemed joyous each and all; 330 340 350 The eagle rode the rising blast, 1 Villeneuve. 2" Between the entrances of the Rhone and Villeneuve, not far from Chillon, is a very small island; the only one I could perceive, in my voyage round and over the lake, within its circumference. It contains a few trees (I think not above three), and from its singleness and diminutive size has a peculiar effect upon the view." - Byron's note. And then new tears came in my eye, I had not left my recent chain; Closing o'er one we sought to save, And yet my glance, too much opprest, XIV It might be months, or years, or days I kept no count, I took no note I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free; I asked not why, and recked not where ; I learned to love despair. And thus when they appeared at last, 360 370 380 Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell! STANZAS TO AUGUSTA 390 These stanzas were written at the Villa Diodati, near Geneva, July, 1816, and form one of several poems addressed to the poet's halfsister, Augusta (Mrs. Leigh), who was true to her brother through all his career, and for whom he felt the warmest affection up to the very end of his life. This is but one among Byron's many autobiographical poems, the egotism of which is amply redeemed by the revela tion of a rich and interesting personality. I HOUGH the day of my Destiny's over, TH the star And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, And the Love which my Spirit hath painted II Then when Nature around me is smiling, I do not believe it beguiling, Because it reminds me of thine; And when winds are at war with the ocean, If their billows excite an emotion, |