By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,

Pass on
it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one,—and here he lies. (1)
Newstead Abbey, November 30. 1808.

TO A LADY, ON BEING ASKED MY REASON
FOR QUITTING ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.
WHEN Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate,

Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,
And bade him curse his future fate.

But, wandering on through distant climes,
He learnt to bear his load of grief;

Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes relief.

Thus, lady! (2) will it be with me,
And I must view thy charms no more;
For, while I linger near to thee,

I sigh for all I knew before.

(1) In Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany, in which the epitaph was first published, the last line ran thus:

"I knew but one unchanged- and here he lies."

The reader will not fail to observe, that this inscription was written at a time when the poet's early feelings with respect to the lady of Annesley had been painfully revived. - E.

(2) In the first copy, "Thus, Mary!"- (Mrs. Musters). The reader will find a portrait of this lady in Finden's Illustrations of Lord Byron's Works, No. iii. — E.

In flight I shall be surely wise,
Escaping from temptation's snare ;

I cannot view my paradise

Without the wish of dwelling there. (1)

December 2. 1808.

REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.

REMIND me not, remind me not,

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours
When all my soul was given to thee;

Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move?

(1) In Mr. Hobhouse's volume, the line stood,-"Without a wish to enter there." The following is an extract from an unpublished letter of Lord Byron, written in 1823, only three days previous to his leaving Italy for Greece:"Miss Chaworth was two years older than myself. She married a man of an ancient and respectable family, but her 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 many 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, persuaded me not to do it. "For," said she "if you go, you will 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 by those reasons, and shortly after married, with what success it is useless to say."-E

Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,

With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.

When thus reclining on my breast,

Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,

As half reproach'd yet raised desire,

And still we near and nearer prest,

And still our glowing lips would meet,
As if in kisses to expire.

And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below;

While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.

I dreamt last night our love return'd,

And, sooth to say,

that very

dream

Was sweeter in its phantasy

Than if for other hearts I burn'd,

For

eyes that ne'er like thine could beam In rapture's wild reality.

Then tell me not, remind me not,

Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore,

Till thou and I shall be forgot,

And senseless as the mouldering stone

Which tells that we shall be no more.

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.

THERE was a time, I need not name,

Since it will ne'er forgotten be, When all our feelings were the same As still my soul hath been to thee.

And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown and thus unfelt by thine,

None, none hath sunk so deep as this
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,

But transient in thy breast alone.

And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.

Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.

Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,

Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.

AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW?

AND wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so
I would not give that bosom pain.

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone

Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine;
And for awhile my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

Oh lady! blessed be that tear

It falls from one who cannot weep:
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?

Sweet lady! speak those words again;