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I would not one fond heart should share
The bitter moments thou hast given; And pardon thee, since thou could'st spare
All that I loved, to peace or heaven.
As soars this fane to emulate the last,
To them be joy or rest, on me
Thy future ills shall press in vain: I nothing owe but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain.
Yet even that pain was some relief;
It felt, but still forgot thy power: The active agony of grief Retards, but never counts the hour.
In joy I've sigh’d to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow: Thy cloud could overcast the light,
But could not add a night to wo.
Dear are the days which made our annals bright,
For then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky; One star alone shot forth a spark
To prove thee-not Eternity.
That beam hath sunk, and now thou art
A blank; a thing to count and curse Through each dull, tedious, trifling part,
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.
One scene even thou canst not deform;
The limit of thy sloth or speed, When future wanderers bear the storm
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed.
Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays
And I can smile to think how weak
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak
Must fall upon-a nameless stone.
TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG
This greeting o’er, the ancient rule obey'd,
AH! Love was never yet without
Without one friend to hear my wo,
Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net
What must they feel whom no false vision, Which Love around your haunts hath set;
But truest, tenderest passions warm'd ? Or circled by his fatal fire,
Sincere, but swift in sad transition, Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire.
As if a dream alone had charm’d?
Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, A bird of free and careless wing
And all thy change can be but dreaming! Was I, through many a smiling spring; But caught within the subtle snare, I burn, and feebly flutter there.
ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
“ORIGIN OF LOVE.” Can neither feel nor pity pain, The cold repulse, the look askance,
The “Origin of Love!”-Ah, why The lightning of Love's angry glance.
That cruel question ask of me,
When thou may'st read in many' an eye In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine;
He starts to life on seeing thee? Now hope, and he who hoped, decline;
And should'st thou seek his end to know; Like melting wax, or withering flower,
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, I feel my passion, and thy power.
He'll linger long in silent wo;
But live-until I cease to be.
REMEMBER HIM, &c.
REMEMBER him, whom passion's power What wretch with me would barter wo?
Severely, deeply, vainly proved : My bird! relent: one note could give
Remember thou that dangerous hour A charm, to bid thy lover live.
When neither fell, though both were loved. My curdling blood, my madd’ning brain
That yielding breast, that melting eye, In silent anguish I sustain ;
Too much invited to be blest: And still thy heart, without partaking
That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh, One pang, exults--while mine is breaking.
The wilder wish reproved, represt. Pour me the poison ; fear not thou !
Oh ! let me feel that all I lost Thou canst not murder more than now;
But saved thee all that conscience fears, I've lived to curse my natal day,
And blush for every pang it cost And love, that thus can lingering slay.
To spare the vain remorse of years.
Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness,
For them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
All earth becomes their monument!
That chain was firm in every link,
But not to bear a stranger's touch;
In other hands its notes were such.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
BOAT'SWAIN, a Dog,
Let him, who from thy neck unbound
WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, The chain which shiver'd in his grasp,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of wo,
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been ; The chain is broke, the music mute.
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, 'Tis past-to them and thee adieu
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, THINE eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, And the wan lustre of thy features-caught
Degraded mass of animated dust! From contemplation-where serenely wrought,
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its despair
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,
By nature vile, ennobled but by name, That-but I know. thy blessed bosom fraught
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thought
stainless thought Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. Pass on-it honors none you wish to mourn ; With such an aspect, by his colors blent,
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; When from his beauty-breathing pencil born,
I never knew but one, and here he lies. (Except that thou hast nothing to repent,)
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808. The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch seem'st thou—but how much more excellent ! With nought Remorse can claim-nor Virtue scorn.
FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For others' weal avail'd on high,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
Are in that word-Farewell !--Farewell!
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from wo,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Abb7e all pain, yet pitying all distress;
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast, and in my brain,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only feel-Farewell !-Farewell!
BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL
BRIGHT be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
“ Near this spot
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be ;
When we know that thy God is with thee.
Light be the turf of thy tomb!
| 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone May its verdure like emeralds be:
which fades so fast, There should not be the shadow of gloom, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth In aught that reminds us of thee.
itself be past.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.*
“O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
Is thy sweet voice to me:
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
As an infant's asleep:
l'HERE's not a joy the world can give like that it
takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feel
ing's dull decay;
* These verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr. Power, of the Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson.