Light be the turf of thy tomb!

If so, it never shall be mine May its verdure like emeralds be.

To mourn the loss of such a heart, There should not be the shadow of gloom

The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, In aught that reminds us of thee.

Which made thee fickle as thou art. Young flowers and an evergreen tree

As rolls the ocean's changing tide, May spring from the spot of thy rest :

So human feelings ebb and flow; But nor cypress nor yew let us see;

And who would in a breast confide, For why should we mourn for the blest?

Where stormy passions ever glow?

It boots not that, together bred,
WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

Our childish days were days of joy :

My spring of life has quickly fled;
WHEN we two parted

Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
In silence and tears,

And when we bid adieu to youth,
Half broken-hearted

Slaves to the specious world's control
To sever for years,

We sigh a long farewell to truth;
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

That world corrupts the noblest soul.
Colder thy kiss ;
Truly that hour foretold

Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Sorrow to this.

Dares all things boldly but to lie;

When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
The dew of the morning

And sparkles in the placid eye.
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning

Not so in Man's maturer years,
Of what I feel now.

When Man himself is but a tool;
Thy vows are all broken,

When interest sways our hopes and fears,
And light is thy fame;

And all inust love and hate by rule,
I hear thy name spoken,

With fools in kindred vice the same,
And share in its shame.

We learn at length our faults to blend;
They name thee before me,

And those, and those alone, may claim,

The prostituted name of friend.
A knell to mine ear;
A sludder comes o'er me-

Such is the common lot of man:
Why wert thou so dear?

Can we then scape from folly free!
They know not I knew thee,

Can we reverse the general plan,
Who knew thee too well:

Nor be what all in turn must be?
Long, long shall I rue thee,

No; for myself, so dark my fate
Too deeply to tell.

Through every turn of life hath been,
In secret we met-

Man and the world so much I hate,
In silence I grieve,

I care not when I quit the scene.
That my heart could forget,

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Thy spirit deceive.

Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
If I should meet thee
After long years,

As glow-worms sparkle though the night,
How should I greet thee?-

But dare not stand the test of day.
With silence and tears.

Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet

(For cherish'd first in royal halls, TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND.

The welcome vices kindly greet),

What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,

Mary, adieu ! I must away:
Will deign to own a kindred care ?

While thou art blest l'll not repine;
Who will debase his manly inind,

But near thee I can never stay ;
For friendship every fool may share ?

My heart would soon again be thine.
In time forbear; amidst the throng

I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride, No more so base a thing be seen ;

Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; No more so idly pass along;

Nor knew till seated by thy side,
Be something, anything, but-mean.

My heart in all, -save hope,-the same.
Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look; LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED

But now to tremble were a crime-
FROM A SKULL.

We met,--and not a nerve was shook.
START not-nor deem my spirit fled ;

I saw thee gaze upon my face,
In me behold the only skull,

Yet meet with no confusion there;
From which, unlike a living head,

One only feeling couldst thou trace;
Whatever flows is never dull.

The sullen calmness of despair.
I lived, I loved, I quaff'd like thee:

Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never inust awake:
I died: let carth my bones resign;

Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
Fill up-thou canst not injure me ;

My foolish heart, be still, or break.
The wornı hath fouler lips than thine.
Better to hold the sparkling grape,
Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood :

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A And circle in the goblet's shape

NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
The drink of gods, than reptile's food.

WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,
Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
In aid of others' let me shine;

The sculptor's art exhausts the poinp of woe, And when, alas! our brains are gone,

And storied urns record who rest below;
What nobler substitute than wine?

When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been: Quaff while thou canst : another race, When thou and thine, like me, are sped,

But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,

The first to welcome, foremost to defend, May rescue thee from carth's embrace,

Whose honest heart is still his master's own, And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Why not? since through life's little day

Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Our heads such sad effects produce ;

Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,

While man, vain insect I hopes to be forgiven, This chance is theirs, to be of use.

And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.

Degraded mass of animated dust! WELL! thou art happy, and I feel

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, That I should thus be happy too;

Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit ! For still my heart regards thy weal

By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Yel who perchance bchold this simple urn, Thy husband's blest--and 'twill impart

Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn : Some pangs to view his happier lot :

To mark a friend's reinains these stones arise ; But let them pass-Oh! how my heart

I never knew but one,--and here he lies. Would hate him if he loved thee not!

TO A LADY,

When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break; But when the unconscious insant smiled,

I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING

ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.

I kiss'd it,-and repress'd my sighs

Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,

And they were all to love and me.

WHEN Man, expellid from Eden's bowers,

A moment linger'd near the gate,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,

And bade him curse his future fate.

But, wandering on through distant climes,

And from that hour, when first thy tongue He learnt to bear his load ofgricf;

Confess'd a love which equall'd mine. Just gave a sigh to other times,

Though many a grief my heart hath wrung. And found in busier scenes relief,

Unknown, and thus unfelt by thine,

And yet, methinks, a gleain of peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine; And for a while my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine

O lady) blessed be that tear

It falls for one who cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,

Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,

Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.
I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream

Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could leam

In rapture's wild reality.
Then tell me not, remind me not,
of hours wbich, though for cver gone,

Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless as the mouldering stone,

Which tells that we shall be no inore.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm

With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charın

A wretch created to repine.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?

Sweet lady! speak those words again;
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so

I would not give that bosom pain,

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.

THERE was a time, I need not name,

Since it will ne'er forgotten be, When all our feelings were the same

As still my soul hath been to thee.

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN,

A SONG,
FILL the goblet again ! for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its

core;

Let us drink !-who would not ?--since, through life's || 'Tis long since I beheld that eye varied round,

Which gave me bliss or misery; In the goblet alone no deception is found.

And I have striven, but in vain,

Never to think of it again ; I have tried in its turn all that life can supply ;

For though I fly from Albion, I have bask'd in the beain of a dark rolling eye;

I still can only love but one. I have loved !--who has not !--but what heart can

As some lone bird, without a mate,
declare,
That pleasure existed while passion was there?

My weary heart is desolate;
I look around, and cannot trace

One friendly smile, or welcome face; In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,

And ev'n in crowds am still alonc, And dreams that affection can never take wing,

Because I cannot love but one. I had friends !—who has not ?- but what tongue will avow,

And I will cross the whitening foam, That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?

And I will seek a foreign home;

Till I forget a false fair face, The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,

I ne'er shall find a resting-place ; Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, change;

But ever love, and love but one. Thou grow'st old !--who does not ?-but on earth what

The poorest, veriest wretch on carth appears,

Still finds some hospitable hearth, Whose virtues, like thiné, still increase with its years?

Where Friendship's or Love's softer glow Yet if blest to the utinost that love can bestow,

May smile in joy or soothe in woe; Should a rival Low down to your idol below,

But friend or leman I have none, We are jealous --who's not ?-thou hast no such

Because I cannot love but one. alloy ;

I go-but wheresoe'er I flee For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

There's not an eye will weep for me;

There's not a kind congenial heart, Then the season of youth and its vanities past,

Where I can claim the meanest part; For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;

Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone, There we find-- do we not?-in the flow of the soul,

Wilt sigh, although I love but one. That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.

To think of every early scene, When the box of Pandora was opend on earth,

Of what we are, and what we've been, And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,

Would whelm some softer hearts with woeHope was left, was she not?-but the goblet we kiss,

But mine, alas ! has stood the blow; And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Yet still beats on as it begun,

And never truly loves but onc.
Long life to the grape ! for when summer has flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own :

And who that dear loved one may be, We must die-who shall not ?-May our sins be for:

Is not for vulgar eyes to see; given,

And why that early love was crost,
And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven,

Thou know'st the best, I feel the most :
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one.

I've tried another's fetters too,
STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING

With charis perchance as fair to view; ENGLAND.*

And I would sain have loved as well,
'Tis done-and shivering in the gale

But some unconquerable spell
The bark unfurls her snolvy sail;

Forbade my bleeding breast to own
And whistling o'er the bending mast,

A kindred care for augint but one.
Loud sings on high the freshening blast;

'Twould soothe to take one lingering view, And I must from this land be gone,

And bless thee in my last adieu ;
Because I cannot love but one.

Yet wish I not those eyes to weep

For him that wanders o'er the deep;
But could I be what I have been,
And could I see what I have seen-

His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
Could I repose upon the breast

Yet still he loves, and loves but one.
Which once my warmest wishes blest-
I should not seek another zone
Because I cannot love but one.

TO FLORENCE.

Oh Lady! when I left the shore, * Mrs. Musters, formerly Mary Chaworth.

The distant shore which gave me birth

I hardly thought to grieve once more,

STANZAS
To quit another spot on earth:

COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM, AND

WHILE BEWILDERED NEAR MOUNT PINDU'S Yet here, amidst this barren isle,

IN ALBANIA
Where panting Nature droops the head,
Where only thou art seen to smile,

CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,
I view my parting hour with dread.

Where Pindus' mountains rise,

And angry clouds are pouring fast
Though far from Albin's craggy shore,

The vengeance of the skies,
Divided by the dark blue main;
A few brief rolling seasons o'er,

Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
Perchance I view her cliffs again :

And lightnings, as they play.

But show where rocks our patlı have crost, But wheresoe'er I now may roam,

Or gild the torrent s spray.
Through scorching clime and varied sea,
Though Time restore me to my home,

Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:

When lightning broke the gloom-

How welcome were its shade !-ah, no! Om thee, in whom at once conspire

'Tis but a Turkish tomb. All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire,

Through sounds of foaming waterfalls, And, oh! forgive the word to love.

I hear a voice exclaim

My way.worn countryman, who calls Forgive the word, in one who ne'er

On distant England's name. With such a word can more offend;

A shot is fired-by foe or friend? And since thy heart I cannot share,

Another-'tis to tell Believe me, what I am, thy friend.

The mountain-peasants to descend, And who so cold as look on thee,

And lead us where they dwell. Thou lovely wanderer, and be less ?

Oh! who in such a night will dare Nor be, what man should ever be,

To tempt the wilderness ? The friend of Beauty in distress!

And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear Ah, who would think that form had past

Our signal of distress? Through Danger's most destructive path,

And who that heard our shouts would rise Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast,

To try the dubious road? And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath?

Nor rather deem from nightly cries

That outlaws were abroad!
Lady! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose,

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour! And Stamboul's Oriental halls

More fiercely pours the storm! The Turkish tyrants now enclose;

Yet here one thought has still the power

To keep my bosom warın. Though mightiest in the lists of fame,

While wandering through each broken path, That glorious city still shall be ;

O'er brake and craggy brow; On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,

While elements exhaust their wrath, As spot of thy nativity:

Sweet Florence, where art thou? And though I bid thee now farewell,

Not on the sea, not on the sea, When I behold that wondrous scene,

Thy bark hath long been gone : Since where thou art I may not dwell,

Oh, may the storm that pours on me, 'Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.

Bow down my head alone!

Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,

When last I press'd thy lip;
And long ere now, with foaming shock,

Impell'd thy gallant ship.

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT

MALTA
AS o'er the cold sepulchral stone
• Some name arrests the passer-by;
Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye!

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now

Hast trod the shore of Spain;
'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou

Should linger on the main.

And when by thee that name is read,

Perchance in some succeeding year, Reflect on me as on the dead,

And think my heart is buried here.

And since I now remember thee

In darkness and in dread,
As in those hours of revelry

Which mirth and music sped;