291

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.

WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Thy husband's blest- and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass Oh! how heart

my

Would hate him, if he loved thee not!

When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

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.

Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou art blest I'll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.

(1) These lines were printed originally in Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany. A few days before they were written, the poet had been invited to dine at Annesley. On the infant daughter of his fair hostess being brought into the room, he started involuntarily, and with the utmost difficulty suppressed his emotion. To the sensations of that moment we are indebted for these beautiful stanzas - and for several of the following pieces.-E.

I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all,- ·save hope,—the same.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look;
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 could'st thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.

Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake:

Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart be still, or break.

November 2. 1808. (1)

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A
NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. (2)

WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,

(1) Lord Byron wrote to his mother on this same 2d November, announcing his intention of sailing for India in March 1809.-E.

(2) This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the inscription by which the verses are preceded :

The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
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,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit !

"Near this spot

Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,

Strength without Insolence,

Courage without Ferocity,

And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,

Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a Dog,

Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,

And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18. 1808."

Lord Byron thus announced the death of his favourite to Mr. Hodgson:"Boatswain is dead! - he expired in a state of madness, on the 18th, after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last; never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. I have now lost every thing except old Murray." By the will which he executed in 1811, he directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in the garden near his faithful dog. — E.