[Written, as Byron states in a letter (December 8, 1811), on hearing a song of former days.'] AWAY, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I must flee from hence - for, oh! I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter days But lull the chords, for now, alas! I must not think, I may not gaze On what I am — on what I was. The voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; 30 On many a lone and lovely night That Thyrza cannot know my pains: My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, 40 'AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR' I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a fear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives and him who dies. 'T were sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. 20 But vain the wish for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan; For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, And pain been transient or unknown. 'Ay, but to die, and go,' alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, 'Tis something better not to be. [First published, 1812.] 'AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR' 31 It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, Like common earth can rot; To me there needs no stone to tell, 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, 167 20 I know not if I could have borne Had worn a deeper shade: Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed, Uphold thy drooping head; 31 Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile, Unfaithful to thy Memory! Nor deem that memory less dear, That then I seem not to repine; I would not fools should overhear One sigh that should be wholly thine. If not the goblet pass unquaff'd, It is not drain'd to banish care; From all her troubled visions free, 10 20 ADDRESS AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE 169 That lute was sweet- till thou couldst think In other hands its notes were such. Let him, who from thy neck unbound Restring the chords, renew the clasp. When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. [First published, 1814.] LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY' ABSENT or present, still to thee, In turn thy converse and thy song. And when the dreaded hour shall come By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh, AndMEMORY' o'er her Druid's tomb Shall weep that aught of thee can die, How fondly will she then repay Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, And blend, while ages roll away, Her name immortally with thine! April 19, 1812. [First published, 1816.] ADDRESS SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURYLANE THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812 [Drury-Lane Theatre had burned down February 24. 1809, and Byron had himself viewed the fire from a house-top in Covent Garden.' The managers advertised a general competition of addresses for the opening of the restored edifice, and scores of poems, all intolerably poor, were submitted. Lord Holland, in despair, finally appealed to Byron for an address, and the following verses of his were spoken by Mr. Elliston. The Rejected Addresses has made the occasion ever memorable.] In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Bow'd to the dust the Drama s tower of pride; |