2. Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile

I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self-condemned, 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.

3. If not the Goblet pass unquaffed,

It is not drained to banish care; The cup must hold a deadlier draught

That brings a Lethe for despair. And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl

That drowned a single thought of thee.

4. For wert thou vanished from my mind,

Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind

To honour thine abandoned Urn? No, no—it is my sorrow's pride

That last dear duty to fulfil ; Though all the world forget beside,

'Tis meet that I remember still.

5. For well I know, that such had been

Thy gentle care for him, who now

Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene,

Where none regarded him, but thou :
And, oh ! I feel in that was given

A blessing never meant for me ;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,
For earthly Love to merit thee.

March 14, 1812. (First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]

ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS

BROKEN.

I.

ILL-FATED Heart ! and can it be,

That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain ?
Have years of care for thine and thee

Alike been all employed in vain ?

2.

Yet precious seems each shattered part,

And every fragment dearer grown,
Since he who wears thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.

March 16, 1812. (First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]

1. (For allusion to the “Cornelian," see “The Cornelian," “ Pignus Amoris "), and “The Adieu," stanza 7, Poétical Works, 1838, i. 66, 231, 240. See, too, Letters, 1898, i. 130, note 3.]

THE CHAIN I GAVE.

FROM THE TURKISH

I.

The chain I gave was fair to view,

The lute I added sweet in sound;
The heart that offered both was true,

And ill deserved the fate it found.

2.
These gists were charmed by secret spell,

Thy truth in absence to divine;
And they have done their duty well,

Alas! they could not teach thee thine.

3.
That chain was firm in every link,

But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet-till thou couldst think

In other hands its notes were such.

4.
Let him who from thy neck unbound

The chain which shivered in his grasp,
Who saw that lute refuse to sound,

Restring the chords, renew the clasp.

5.
When thou wert changed, they altered too;

The chain is broke, the music mute,
'Tis past—to them and thee adieu-

False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. [MS. M. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition). ] VOL. III.

E

LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF

THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

1.

ABSENT or present, still to thee,

My friend, what magic spells belong !
As all can tell, who share, like me,

In turn thy converse,' and thy song.

2.

But when the dreaded hour shall come

By Friendship ever deemed too nigh,
And “MEMORY” o'er her Druid's tomb ?

Shall weep that aught of thee can die,

3.
How fondly will she then repay

Thy homage offered at her shrine,
And blend, while ages roll away,

Her name immortally with thine !

April 19, 1812. [First published, Poems, 1816.)

i. To Samuel Rogers, Esq.- [Poenis, 1816.) 1. ["Rogers is silent,-and, it is said, severe. When ne does talk, he talks well; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expres. sion is pure as his poetry. If you enter his house--his drawingroom-his library--you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor."-Diary, 1813 ; Letters, 1898, ii. 331.) 2. (Compare Collins' Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson

“In yonder grave a Druid lics.")

ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY,

OCTOBER 10, 1812.

In one dread night our city saw, and sighed,
Bowed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride;
In one short hour beheld the blazing fane,
Apollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.

Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned, Whose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned !) Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven, Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven; Saw the long column of revolving flames Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, 2 While thousands, thronged around the burning dome, Shrank back appalled, and trembled for their home, As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone

i. As flashing far the new Volcano shone

meteors And swept the skies with

(lightnings} not their own.

or, As flashed the volumed blaze, and {shestre

sadly shone

The skies with lightnings awful as their own.

(Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 25, 1812.] or, As glared each rising flash, and ghastly shone The skies with lightnings awful as their own.

(Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 27, 1812.) 1. ["Mr. Elliston then came forward and delivered the following Prize address. We cannot boast of the eloquence of the delivery. It was neither gracefully nor correctly recited. The merits of the production itself we submit to the criticism of our readers. We cannot suppose that it was selected as the most poetical composition of all the scores that were submitted to the committee. But perhaps by its tenor, by its allusions to Garrick, to Siddons, and to Sheridan, it was thought most applicable to the occasion, notwithstanding its being in part unmusical, and in general tame."--Morning Chronicle, October 12, 1812.)

2. ["By the by, the best view of the said fire (February 24, 1809)