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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,
Our childish days were days of joy :
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's control
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.
Not so in Man's maturer years,
When Man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all inust love and hate by rule,
With fools in kindred vice the same,
We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim,
The prostituted name of friend.
Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then scape from folly free!
Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be?
No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been,
Man and the world so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.
But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle though the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.
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:
While thou art blest l'll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay ;
My heart would soon again be thine.
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,
My heart in all, -save hope,-the same.
My breast would thrill before thy look; LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED
But now to tremble were a crime-
We met,--and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there;
One only feeling couldst thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.
Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never inust awake:
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart, be still, or break.
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A And circle in the goblet's shape
WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the poinp of woe, And when, alas! our brains are gone,
And storied urns record who rest below;
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.
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
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;
And they were all to love and me.
WHEN Man, expellid from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate,
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;
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
And then those pensive eyes would close,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
In rapture's wild reality.
Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Which tells that we shall be no inore.
Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
A wretch created to repine.
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again;
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,
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,
My weary heart is desolate;
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.
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,
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most :
I've tried another's fetters too,
With charis perchance as fair to view; ENGLAND.*
And I would sain have loved as well,
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for augint but one.
'Twould soothe to take one lingering view, And I must from this land be gone,
And bless thee in my last adieu ;
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For him that wanders o'er the deep;
His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
Yet still he loves, and loves but one.
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,
COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM, AND
WHILE BEWILDERED NEAR MOUNT PINDU'S Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,
And angry clouds are pouring fast
The vengeance of the skies,
Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
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.
Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
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!
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;
Impell'd thy gallant ship.
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT
Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
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,
Which mirth and music sped;