Exalted o'er thy less abhorred compeers * March 29, 1816. * [In first draught—"weltering."-"I doubt about 'weltering.' We say 'weltering in blood;' but do not they also use 'weltering in the wind,' 'weltering on a gibbet?' I have no dictionary, so look. In the mean time, I have put 'festering;' which perhaps, in any case is the best word of the two. Shakspeare has it often, and I do not think it too strong for the figure in this thing. Quick! quick! quick! quick!"— Byron to Mr. Murray, April 2, 1816.] STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.* I. WHEN all around grew drear and dark, And reason half withheld her ray – II. In that deep midnight of the mind, The weak despair III. -the cold depart; When fortune changed- and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star Which rose and set not to the last. IV. Oh! blest be thine unbroken light! *[His sister, the Honorable Mrs. Leigh. These stanzas the parting tribute to her, whose tenderness had been his sole consolation during the crisis of domestic misery — were the last verses written by Byron in England.] And stood between me and the night, V. And when the cloud upon us came, VI. Still may thy spirit dwell on mine, And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine Than in the world's defied rebuke. VII. Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, Still waves with fond fidelity Its boughs above a monument. VIII. The winds might rend the skies might pour, But there thou wert- and still would'st be Devoted in the stormiest hour To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. IX. But thou and thine shall know no blight, For heaven in sunshine will requite X. Then let the ties of baffled love Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel—but will not move; Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. XI. And these, when all was lost beside, Were found and still are fixed in thee;· And bearing still a breast so tried, STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.* I. THOUGH the day of my destiny's over, The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, 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; [These beautiful verses, so expressive of the writer's wounded feelings at the moment, were written in July, at the Campagne Diodati, near Geneva. "Be careful," he says, "in printing the stanzas beginning, 'Though the day of my destiny's,' etc., which I think well of as a composition."] † [In the original MS. "Though the days of my glory are over, And the sun of my fame hath declined."] |