The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 1. Poetry
Chapter 14
[Footnote 1: "Stanzas to Jessy" have often been printed, but were never acknowledged by Byron, or included in any authorized edition of his works. They are, however, unquestionably genuine. They appeared first in 'Monthly Literary Recreations' (July, 1807), a magazine published by B. Crosby & Co., Stationers' Court. Crosby was London agent for Ridge, the Newark bookseller, and, with Longman and others, "sold" the recently issued 'Hours of Idleness'. The same number of 'Monthly Literary Recreations' (for July, 1807) contains Byron's review of Wordsworth's 'Poems' (2 vols., 1807), and a highly laudatory notice of 'Hours of Idleness'. The lines are headed "Stanzas to Jessy," and are signed "George Gordon, Lord Byron." They were republished in 1824, by Knight and Lacy, in vol. v. of the three supplementary volumes of the 'Works', and again in the same year by John Bumpus and A. Griffin, in their 'Miscellaneous Poems', etc. A note which is prefixed to these issues, "The following stanzas were addressed by Lord Byron to his Lady, a few months before their separation," and three variants in the text, make it unlikely that the pirating editors were acquainted with the text of the magazine. The MS. ('British Museum', Eg. MSS. No. 2332) is signed "George Gordon, Lord Byron," but the words "George Gordon, Lord" are in another hand, and were probably added by Crosby. The following letter (together with a wrapper addressed, "Mr. Crosby, Stationers' Court," and sealed in red wax with Byron's arms and coronet) is attached to the poem:--
July 21, 1807.
SIR,
I have sent according to my promise some Stanzas for Literary Recreations. The insertion I leave to the option of the Editors. They have never appeared before. I should wish to know whether they are admitted or not, and when the work will appear, as I am desirous of a copy.
Etc., etc., BYRON.
P.S.--Send your answer when convenient."]
[Footnote i:
'Such thrills of Rapture'.
[Knight and Lacy, 1824, v. 56.]
[Footnote ii:
'And mine, mine only'.
[Knight and Lacy, v. 56.]]
THE ADIEU.
WRITTEN UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE AUTHOR WOULD SOON DIE.
1.
Adieu, thou Hill! [1] where early joy Spread roses o'er my brow; Where Science seeks each loitering boy With knowledge to endow. Adieu, my youthful friends or foes, Partners of former bliss or woes; No more through Ida's paths we stray; Soon must I share the gloomy cell, Whose ever-slumbering inmates dwell Unconscious of the day.
2.
Adieu, ye hoary Regal Fanes, [i] Ye spires of Granta's vale, Where Learning robed in sable reigns. And Melancholy pale. Ye comrades of the jovial hour, Ye tenants of the classic bower, On Cama's verdant margin plac'd, Adieu! while memory still is mine, For offerings on Oblivion's shrine, These scenes must be effac'd.
3
Adieu, ye mountains of the clime Where grew my youthful years; Where Loch na Garr in snows sublime His giant summit rears. Why did my childhood wander forth From you, ye regions of the North, With sons of Pride to roam? Why did I quit my Highland cave, Marr's dusky heath, and Dee's clear wave, To seek a Sotheron home?
4
Hall of my Sires! a long farewell-- Yet why to thee adieu? Thy vaults will echo back my knell, Thy towers my tomb will view: The faltering tongue which sung thy fall, And former glories of thy Hall, Forgets its wonted simple note-- But yet the Lyre retains the strings, And sometimes, on Æolian wings, In dying strains may float.
5.
Fields, which surround yon rustic cot, [2] While yet I linger here, Adieu! you are not now forgot, To retrospection dear. Streamlet! [3] along whose rippling surge My youthful limbs were wont to urge, At noontide heat, their pliant course; Plunging with ardour from the shore, Thy springs will lave these limbs no more, Deprived of active force.
6.
And shall I here forget the scene, Still nearest to my breast? Rocks rise and rivers roll between The spot which passion blest; Yet Mary, [4] all thy beauties seem Fresh as in Love's bewitching dream, To me in smiles display'd; Till slow disease resigns his prey To Death, the parent of decay, Thine image cannot fade.
7.
And thou, my Friend! whose gentle love Yet thrills my bosom's chords, How much thy friendship was above Description's power of words! Still near my breast thy gift [5] I wear [ii] Which sparkled once with Feeling's tear, Of Love the pure, the sacred gem: Our souls were equal, and our lot In that dear moment quite forgot; Let Pride alone condemn!
8.
All, all is dark and cheerless now! No smile of Love's deceit Can warm my veins with wonted glow, Can bid Life's pulses beat: Not e'en the hope of future fame Can wake my faint, exhausted frame, Or crown with fancied wreaths my head. Mine is a short inglorious race,-- To humble in the dust my face, And mingle with the dead.
9.
Oh Fame! thou goddess of my heart; On him who gains thy praise, Pointless must fall the Spectre's dart, Consumed in Glory's blaze; But me she beckons from the earth, My name obscure, unmark'd my birth, My life a short and vulgar dream: Lost in the dull, ignoble crowd, My hopes recline within a shroud, My fate is Lethe's stream.
10.
When I repose beneath the sod, Unheeded in the clay, Where once my playful footsteps trod, Where now my head must lay, [6] The meed of Pity will be shed In dew-drops o'er my narrow bed, By nightly skies, and storms alone; No mortal eye will deign to steep With tears the dark sepulchral deep Which hides a name unknown.
11.
Forget this world, my restless sprite, Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven: There must thou soon direct thy flight, If errors are forgiven. To bigots and to sects unknown, Bow down beneath the Almighty's Throne; To Him address thy trembling prayer: He, who is merciful and just, Will not reject a child of dust, Although His meanest care.
12.
Father of Light! to Thee I call; My soul is dark within: Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall, Avert the death of sin. Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Who calm'st the elemental war, Whose mantle is yon boundless sky, My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive; And, since I soon must cease to live, Instruct me how to die. [iii]
1807. [First published, 1832.]
[Footnote 1: Harrow. ]
[Footnote 2: Mrs. Pigot's Cottage.]
[Footnote 3: The river Grete, at Southwell.]
[Footnote 4: Mary Chaworth.]
[Footnote 5: Compare the verses on "The Cornelian," p. 66, and "Pignus Amoris," p. 231.]
[Footnote 6: See note to "Pignus Amoris," st. 3, l. 3, p. 232.]
[Footnote i:
'--ye regal Towers'.
['MS. Newstead'.] ]
[Footnote ii:
'The gift I wear'.
['MS. Newstead'.]]
[Footnote iii:
'And since I must forbear to live, Instruct me how to die.'
['MS. Newstead']
TO----[1]
1.
Oh! well I know your subtle Sex, Frail daughters of the wanton Eve,-- While jealous pangs our Souls perplex, No passion prompts you to relieve.
2
From Love, or Pity ne'er you fall, By _you_, no mutual Flame is felt, "Tis Vanity, which rules you all, Desire alone which makes you melt.
3
I will not say no _souls_ are yours, Aye, ye have Souls, and dark ones too, Souls to contrive those smiling lures, To snare our simple hearts for you.
4
Yet shall you never bind me fast, Long to adore such brittle toys, I'll rove along, from first to last, And change whene'er my fancy cloys.
5
Oh! I should be a _baby_ fool, To sigh the dupe of female art-- Woman! perhaps thou hast a _Soul_, But where have _Demons_ hid thy _Heart_?
January, 1807.
[Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]
ON THE EYES OF MISS A----H----[1]
Anne's Eye is liken'd to the _Sun_, From it such Beams of Beauty fall; And _this_ can be denied by none, For like the _Sun_, it shines on _All_.
Then do not admiration smother, Or say these glances don't become her; To _you_, or _I_, or _any other_ Her _Sun_, displays perpetual Summer. [2]
January 14, 1807.
[Footnote 1: Miss Anne Houson. From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]
[Footnote 2: Compare, for the same simile, the lines "To Edward Noel Long, Esq.," p. 187, 'ante'.]
TO A VAIN LADY. [1]
1
Ah, heedless girl! why thus disclose What ne'er was meant for other ears; Why thus destroy thine own repose, And dig the source of future tears?
2
Oh, thou wilt weep, imprudent maid, While lurking envious foes will smile, For all the follies thou hast said Of those who spoke but to beguile.
3
Vain girl! thy lingering woes are nigh, If thou believ'st what striplings say: Oh, from the deep temptation fly, Nor fall the specious spoiler's prey.
4
Dost thou repeat, in childish boast, The words man utters to deceive? Thy peace, thy hope, thy all is lost, If thou canst venture to believe.
5
While now amongst thy female peers Thou tell'st again the soothing tale, Canst thou not mark the rising sneers Duplicity in vain would veil?
6
These tales in secret silence hush, Nor make thyself the public gaze: What modest maid without a blush Recounts a flattering coxcomb's praise?
7.
Will not the laughing boy despise Her who relates each fond conceit-- Who, thinking Heaven is in her eyes, Yet cannot see the slight deceit?
8.
For she who takes a soft delight These amorous nothings in revealing, Must credit all we say or write, While vanity prevents concealing.
9.
Cease, if you prize your Beauty's reign! No jealousy bids me reprove: One, who is thus from nature vain, I pity, but I cannot love.
January 15, 1807. [First published, 1832.]
[Footnote 1: To A Young Lady (Miss Anne Houson) whose vanity induced her to repeat the compliments paid her by some young men of her acquaintance.--'MS. Newstead_'.]
TO ANNE. [1]
1.
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous: I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you; But Woman is made to command and deceive us-- I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you.
2.
I vow'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you, Yet thought that a day's separation was long; When we met, I determined again to suspect you-- Your smile soon convinced me _suspicion_ was wrong.
3.
I swore, in a transport of young indignation, With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you: I saw you--my _anger_ became _admiration_; And now, all my wish, all my hope's to regain you.
4.
With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention! Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you;-- At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension, Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you!
January 16, 1807. [First published, 1832.]
[Footnote 1: Miss Anne Houson.]
EGOTISM. A LETTER TO J. T. BECHER. [1]
[Greek: Heauton bur_on aeidei.]
1.
If Fate should seal my Death to-morrow, (Though much _I_ hope she will _postpone_ it,) I've held a share _Joy_ and _Sorrow_, Enough for _Ten_; and _here_ I _own_ it.
2.
I've lived, as many others live, And yet, I think, with more enjoyment; For could I through my days again live, I'd pass them in the 'same' employment.
3.
That 'is' to say, with 'some exception', For though I will not make confession, I've seen too much of man's deception Ever again to trust profession.
4.
Some sage 'Mammas' with gesture haughty, Pronounce me quite a youthful Sinner-- But 'Daughters' say, "although he's naughty, You must not check a 'Young Beginner'!"
5.
I've loved, and many damsels know it-- But whom I don't intend to mention, As 'certain stanzas' also show it, 'Some' say 'deserving Reprehension'.
6.
Some ancient Dames, of virtue fiery, (Unless Report does much belie them,) Have lately made a sharp Enquiry, And much it 'grieves' me to 'deny' them.
7.
Two whom I lov'd had 'eyes' of 'Blue', To which I hope you've no objection; The 'Rest' had eyes of 'darker Hue'-- Each Nymph, of course, was 'all perfection'.
8.
But here I'll close my 'chaste' Description, Nor say the deeds of animosity; For 'silence' is the best prescription, To 'physic' idle curiosity.
9.
Of 'Friends' I've known a 'goodly Hundred'-- For finding 'one' in each acquaintance, By 'some deceived', by others plunder'd, 'Friendship', to me, was not 'Repentance'.
10.
At 'School' I thought like other 'Children'; Instead of 'Brains', a fine Ingredient, 'Romance', my 'youthful Head bewildering', To 'Sense' had made me disobedient.
11.
A victim, 'nearly' from affection, To certain 'very precious scheming', The still remaining recollection Has 'cured' my 'boyish soul' of 'Dreaming'.
12.
By Heaven! I rather would forswear The Earth, and all the joys reserved me, Than dare again the 'specious Snare', From which 'my Fate' and 'Heaven preserved' me.
13.
Still I possess some Friends who love me-- In each a much esteemed and true one; The Wealth of Worlds shall never move me To quit their Friendship, for a new one.
14.
But Becher! you're a 'reverend pastor', Now take it in consideration, Whether for penance I should fast, or Pray for my 'sins' in expiation.
15.
I own myself the child of 'Folly', But not so wicked as they make me-- I soon must die of melancholy, If 'Female' smiles should e'er forsake me.
16.
'Philosophers' have 'never doubted', That 'Ladies' Lips' were made for 'kisses!' For 'Love!' I could not live without it, For such a 'cursed' place as 'This is'.
17.
Say, Becher, I shall be forgiven! If you don't warrant my salvation, I must resign all 'Hopes' of 'Heaven'! For, 'Faith', I can't withstand Temptation.
P.S.--These were written between one and two, after 'midnight'. I have not 'corrected', or 'revised'. Yours, BYRON.
[Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]
TO ANNE. [1]
1
Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed The heart which adores you should wish to dissever; Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed,-- To bear me from Love and from Beauty for ever.
2.
Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone Could bid me from fond admiration refrain; By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown, Till smiles should restore me to rapture again.
3.
As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwin'd, The rage of the tempest united must weather; My love and my life were by nature design'd To flourish alike, or to perish together.
4.
Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu: Till Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed, His Soul, his Existence, are centred in you.
1807. [First published, 1832.]
TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET
BEGINNING "'SAD IS MY VERSE,' YOU SAY, 'AND YET NO TEAR.'"
1.
Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt: A devilish deal more sad than witty! Why we should weep I can't find out, Unless for _thee_ we weep in pity.
2.
Yet there is one I pity more; And much, alas! I think he needs it: For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore, Who, to his own misfortune, reads it.
3.
Thy rhymes, without the aid of magic, May _once_ be read--but never after: Yet their effect's by no means tragic, Although by far too dull for laughter.
4.
But would you make our bosoms bleed, And of no common pang complain-- If you would make us weep indeed, Tell us, you'll read them o'er again.
March 8, 1807. [First published, 1832.]
ON FINDING A FAN. [1]
1.
In one who felt as once he felt, This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame; But now his heart no more will melt, Because that heart is not the same.
2.
As when the ebbing flames are low, The aid which once improved their light, And bade them burn with fiercer glow, Now quenches all their blaze in night.
3.
Thus has it been with Passion's fires-- As many a boy and girl remembers-- While every hope of love expires, Extinguish'd with the dying embers.
4.
The _first_, though not a spark survive, Some careful hand may teach to burn; The _last_, alas! can ne'er survive; No touch can bid its warmth return.
5.
Or, if it chance to wake again, Not always doom'd its heat to smother, It sheds (so wayward fates ordain) Its former warmth around another.
1807. [First published, 1832.]
[Footnote 1: Of Miss A. H. (MS. Newstead).]
FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. [i.]
1.
Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days, Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis time we should part; Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays, The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.
2.
This bosom, responsive to rapture no more, Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing; The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar, Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing.
3.
Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre, Yet even these themes are departed for ever; No more beam the eyes which my dream could inspire, My visions are flown, to return,--alas, never!
4.
When drain'd is the nectar which gladdens the bowl, How vain is the effort delight to prolong! When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul, [ii] What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song?
5.
Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone, Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign? Or dwell with delight on the hours that are flown? Ah, no! for those hours can no longer be mine.
6.
Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love? [iii] Ah, surely Affection ennobles the strain! But how can my numbers in sympathy move, When I scarcely can hope to behold them again?
7.
Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done, And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires? For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone! For Heroes' exploits how unequal my fires!
8.
Untouch'd, then, my Lyre shall reply to the blast-- 'Tis hush'd; and my feeble endeavours are o'er; And those who have heard it will pardon the past, When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no more.
9.
And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot, Since early affection and love is o'ercast: Oh! blest had my Fate been, and happy my lot, Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last.
10.
Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne'er meet; [iv] If our songs have been languid, they surely are few: Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet-- The present--which seals our eternal Adieu.
1807. [First published, 1832.]
[Footnote 1:
'Adieu to the Muse'.
['MS. Newstead'.]]
[Footnote ii:
'When cold is the form'.
['MS. Newstead'.]]
[Footnote iii:
--'whom I lived but to love'.
['MS. Newstead'.]]
[Footnote iv:
'Since we never can meet'.
['MS. Newstead'.]]
TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD. [1]
1.
Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground, I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine; That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around, And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.
2.
Such, such was my hope, when in Infancy's years, On the land of my Fathers I rear'd thee with pride; They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears,-- Thy decay, not the _weeds_ that surround thee can hide.
3.
I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour, A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my Sire; Till Manhood shall crown me, not mine is the power, But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expire.
4.
Oh! hardy thou wert--even now little care Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gently heal: But thou wert not fated affection to share-- For who could suppose that a Stranger would feel?
5.
Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while; Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run, The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile, When Infancy's years of probation are done.
6.
Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds, That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay, For still in thy bosom are Life's early seeds, And still may thy branches their beauty display.
7.
Oh! yet, if Maturity's years may be thine, Though _I_ shall lie low in the cavern of Death, On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine, [i] Uninjured by Time, or the rude Winter's breath.
8.
For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave O'er the corse of thy Lord in thy canopy laid; While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave, The Chief who survives may recline in thy shade.
9.
And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot, He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread. Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot; Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead.
10.
And here, will they say, when in Life's glowing prime, Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay, And here must he sleep, till the moments of Time Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day.
1807. [First published 1832.]
["Copied for Mr. Moore, Jan. 24, 1828."--Note by Miss Pigot.]
[Footnote 1: There is no heading to the original MS., but on the blank leaf at the end of the poem is written,
"To an oak in the garden of Newstead Abbey, planted by the author in the 9th year of [his] age; this tree at his last visit was in a state of decay, though perhaps not irrecoverable."
On arriving at Newstead, in 1798, Byron, then in his eleventh year, planted an oak, and cherished the fancy, that as the tree flourished so should he. On revisiting the abbey, he found the oak choked up by weeds and almost destroyed;--hence these lines. Shortly after Colonel Wildman took possession, he said to a servant,
"Here is a fine young oak; but it must be cut down, as it grows in an improper place."
"I hope not, sir, "replied the man, "for it's the one that my lord was so fond of, because he set it himself."
_Life_, p. 50, note.]
[Footnote i:
_For ages may shine_.
[_MS. Newstead_]]
ON REVISITING HARROW. [1]
1.
Here once engaged the stranger's view Young Friendship's record simply trac'd; Few were her words,--but yet, though few, Resentment's hand the line defac'd.
2.
Deeply she cut--but not eras'd-- The characters were still so plain, That Friendship once return'd, and gaz'd,-- Till Memory hail'd the words again.
3.
Repentance plac'd them as before; Forgiveness join'd her gentle name; So fair the inscription seem'd once more, That Friendship thought it still the same.
4.
Thus might the Record now have been; But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour, Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between, And blotted out the line for ever.
September, 1807.
[First published in Moore's 'Life and Letters, etc.', 1830, i. 102.]
[Footnote 1:
"Some years ago, when at Harrow, a friend of the author engraved on a particular spot the names of both, with a few additional words, as a memorial. Afterwards, on receiving some real or imaginary injury, the author destroyed the frail record before he left Harrow. On revisiting the place in 1807, he wrote under it these stanzas."
Moore's 'Life, etc.', i. 102.]]
TO MY SON. [1]
1.
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue Bright as thy mother's in their hue; Those rosy lips, whose dimples play And smile to steal the heart away, Recall a scene of former joy, And touch thy father's heart, my Boy!
2.
And thou canst lisp a father's name-- Ah, William, were thine own the same,-- No self-reproach--but, let me cease-- My care for thee shall purchase peace; Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy, And pardon all the past, my Boy!
3.