TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 1 Frw years have pass'd since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most If so, it never shall be mine To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art. As rolls the ocean's changing tide, Where stormy passions ever glow? 1808. [This copy of verses, and that which follows, originally appeared in the volume published, in 1809, by Mr. (now the Right Hon. Sir John) Hobhouse, under the title of Imita It boots not that, together bred, 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 must 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; But thou, with spirit frail and light, Alas! whenever folly calls Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first în royal halls, The welcome vices kindly greet), Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add One insect to the fluttering crowd; And still thy trifling heart is glad To join the vain, and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair to fair, Still simpering on with eager haste, As flies along the gay parterre, That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say, what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapours move, To flit along from dame to dame, An ignis-fatuus gleam of love? For friendship every fool may share? No more so idly pass along; Be something, anything, but- -mean 1808. tions and Translations, together with original poems," and bearing the modest epigraph-"Nos hæc novimus case hil."] LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL. 1 START not- nor deem my spirit fled; In me behold the only skull, From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee: I died let earth my bones resign: Fill up-thou canst not injure me; The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Better to hold the sparkling grape, Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood; And circle in the goblet's shape The drink of gods, than reptile's food. Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, Quaff while thou canst; another race, Why not? since through life's little day Newstead Abbey, 1808. Lord Byron gives the following account of this cup: "The gardener, in digging, discovered a skull that had probably belonged to some jolly friar or monk of the abbey, about the time it was demonasteried. Observing it to be of giant size, and in a perfect state of preservation, a strange fancy seized me of having it set and mounted as a drinking cup. I accordingly sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish, and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshell." It is now in the possession of Colonel Wildman, the proprietor of Newstead Abbey. In several of our elder dramatists, mention is made of the custom of quaffing wine out of similar cups. For example, in Dekker's "Wonder of a Kingdom," Torrenti says,— "Would I had ten thousand soldiers' heads, Their skulls set all in silver; to drink healths To his confusion who first invented war."] [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.] INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, 3 This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the inscription by which the verses are preceded : - "Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Courage without Ferocity, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1868." Lord Byron thus announced the death of his favourite to his friend 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 everything, except old Murray." By the will executed in 1811, he directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog.] And then those pensive eyes would close, I dreamt last night our love return'd, For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam Then tell me not, remind me not, Of hours which, though for ever gone, Till thou and I shall be forgot, And senseless as the mouldering stone THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME As still my soul hath been to thee. None, none hath sunk so deep as this- And yet my heart some solace knew, Remembrance of the days that were. Yes; my adored, yet most unkind! Remembrance of that love remain. AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? AND wilt thou weep when I am low? marriage was not a happier one than my own. Her conduct, ¦ however, was irreproachable; but there was not sympathy between their characters. I had not seen her for E years, when an occasion offered. I was upon the point, with her consent, of paying her a visit, when my sister, who has always had more influence over me than any one else, per suaded me not to do it. For,' said she, if you go you wil fall in love again, and then there will be a scene; one step will lead to another, et cela fera un éclat.' I was guided br those reasons, and shortly after married,—with what success it is useless to say."] Some hours of freedom may remain as yet Shall these no more confess a manly sway, Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day, In his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's volume, now before us, Lord Byron has here written with a pencil,-"I have lost them all, and shall wED accordingly. 1811. B."] STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING 'Tis done ENGLAND. and shivering in the gale But could I be what I have been, Which once my warmest wishes blest- 'Tis long since I beheld that eye As some lone bird, without a mate, And I will cross the whitening foam, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; I go but wheresoe'er I. flee To think of every early scene, Of what we are, and what we've been, And never truly loves but one. And who that dear loved one may be Is not for vulgar eyes to see, I've tried another's fetters too, With charms perchance as fair to view; And I would fain have loved as well, Yet wish I not those eyes to weep For him that wanders o'er the deep; Yet still he loves, and loves but one. 2 LINES TO MR. HODGSON. WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET. HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o'er the mast. From aloft the signal's streaming, Hark! the farewell gun is fired; Come to task all, Cases cracking, Not a corner for a mouse We're impatient, push from shore. "Have a care! that case holds liquor— Stop the boat I'm sick-oh Lord!" "Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker, Ere you've been an hour on board." Thus are screaming Men and women, Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks; Here entangling, All are wrangling, Stuck together close as wax. — Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain, Nobles twenty Did at once my vessel fill." How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still : Then I'd scape the heat and racket Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet." "Though wheresoe'er my bark may run, I love but thee, I love but one."] 1809. |