The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 1. Poetry
Chapter 15
Her lowly grave the turf has prest, And thou hast known a stranger's breast; Derision sneers upon thy birth, And yields thee scarce a name on earth; Yet shall not these one hope destroy,-- A Father's heart is thine, my Boy!
4.
Why, let the world unfeeling frown, Must I fond Nature's claims disown? Ah, no--though moralists reprove, I hail thee, dearest child of Love, Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy-- A Father guards thy birth, my Boy!
5.
Oh,'twill be sweet in thee to trace, Ere Age has wrinkled o'er my face, Ere half my glass of life is run, At once a brother and a son; And all my wane of years employ In justice done to thee, my Boy!
6.
Although so young thy heedless sire, Youth will not damp parental fire; And, wert thou still less dear to me, While Helen's form revives in thee, The breast, which beat to former joy, Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy!
1807.
[First published in Moore's 'Life and Letters, etc.', 1830, i. 104.]
[Footnote 1: For a reminiscence of what was, possibly, an actual event, see 'Don Juan', canto xvi. st. 61. He told Lady Byron that he had two natural children, whom he should provide for.]
QUERIES TO CASUISTS. [1]
The Moralists tell us that Loving is Sinning, And always are prating about and about it, But as Love of Existence itself's the beginning, Say, what would Existence itself be without it?
They argue the point with much furious Invective, Though perhaps 'twere no difficult task to confute it; But if Venus and Hymen should once prove defective, Pray who would there be to defend or dispute it?
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. (watermark 1805) at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]
SONG.[1]
1.
Breeze of the night in gentler sighs More softly murmur o'er the pillow; For Slumber seals my Fanny's eyes, And Peace must never shun her pillow.
2.
Or breathe those sweet Æolian strains Stolen from celestial spheres above, To charm her ear while some remains, And soothe her soul to dreams of love.
3.
But Breeze of night again forbear, In softest murmurs only sigh: Let not a Zephyr's pinion dare To lift those auburn locks on high.
4.
Chill is thy Breath, thou breeze of night! Oh! ruffle not those lids of Snow; For only Morning's cheering light May wake the beam that lurks below.
5.
Blest be that lip and azure eye! Sweet Fanny, hallowed be thy Sleep! Those lips shall never vent a sigh, Those eyes may never wake to weep.
February 23rd, 1808.
[Footnote 1: From the MS. in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.]
TO HARRIET. [1]
1.
Harriet! to see such Circumspection, [2] In Ladies I have no objection Concerning what they read; An ancient Maid's a sage adviser, Like _her_, you will be much the wiser, In word, as well as Deed.
2.
But Harriet, I don't wish to flatter, And really think 't would make the matter More perfect if not quite, If other Ladies when they preach, Would certain Damsels also teach More cautiously to write.
[Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]
[Footnote 2: See the poem "To Marion," and 'note', p. 129. It would seem that J. T. Becher addressed some flattering lines to Byron with reference to a poem concerning Harriet Maltby, possibly the lines "To Marion." The following note was attached by Miss Pigot to these stanzas, which must have been written on another occasion:--
"I saw Lord B. was _flattered_ by John Becher's lines, as he read 'Apollo', etc., with a peculiar smile and emphasis; so out of _fun_, to vex him a little, I said,
'_Apollo!_ He _should_ have said _Apollyon_.'
'Elizabeth! for Heaven's sake don't say so again! I don't mind _you_ telling me so; but if any one _else_ got hold _of the word_, I should never hear the end of it.'
So I laughed at him, and dropt it, for he was _red_ with agitation."]
THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME. [i] [1]
1.
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.
2.
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,
3.
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.
4.
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.
5.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain. [ii]
6.
Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shall be, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
June 10, 1808. [First published, 1809]
[Footnote 1: This copy of verses, with eight others, originally appeared in a volume published in 1809 by J. C. Hobhouse, under the title of _Imitations and Translations, From the Ancient and Modern Classics, Together with Original Poems never before published_. The MS. is in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.]
[Footnote i:
_Stanzas to the Same_.
[_Imit. and Transl._, p. 200.]]
[Footnote ii:
_The memory of that love again._
[MS. L.]]
AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? [i]
1.
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.
2.
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.
3.
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine: And for a while my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine.
4.
Oh lady! blessèd be that tear-- It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear [ii] To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
5.
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.
6. [iii]
Yet 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. [1]
Aug. 12, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote 1: It was in one of Byron's fits of melancholy that the following verses were addressed to him by his friend John Cam Hobhouse:--
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE.
Hail! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame Inspires, and animates to deeds of fame; Who feel the noble wish before you die To raise the finger of each passer-by: Hail! may a future age admiring view A Falkland or a Clarendon in you. But as your blood with dangerous passion boils, Beware! and fly from Venus' silken toils: Ah! let the head protect the weaker heart, And Wisdom's Ægis turn on Beauty's dart.
* * * * *
But if 'tis fix'd that every lord must pair, And you and Newstead must not want an heir, Lose not your pains, and scour the country round, To find a treasure that can ne'er be found! No! take the first the town or court affords, Trick'd out to stock a market for the lords; By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall On one, though wicked, not the worst of all:
* * * * *
One though perhaps as any Maxwell free, Yet scarce a copy, Claribel, of thee; Not very ugly, and not very old, A little pert indeed, but not a scold; One that, in short, may help to lead a life Not farther much from comfort than from strife; And when she dies, and disappoints your fears, Shall leave some joys for your declining years.
But, as your early youth some time allows, Nor custom yet demands you for a spouse, Some hours of freedom may remain as yet, For one who laughs alike at love and debt: Then, why in haste? put off the evil day, And snatch at youthful comforts while you may! Pause! nor so soon the various bliss forego That single souls, and such alone, can know: Ah! why too early careless life resign, Your morning slumber, and your evening wine; Your loved companion, and his easy talk; Your Muse, invoked in every peaceful walk? What! can no more your scenes paternal please, Scenes sacred long to wise, unmated ease? The prospect lengthen'd o'er the distant down, Lakes, meadows, rising woods, and all your own? What! shall your Newstead, shall your cloister'd bowers, The high o'erhanging arch and trembling towers! Shall these, profaned with folly or with strife, An ever fond, or ever angry wife! Shall these no more confess a manly sway, But changeful woman's changing whims obey? Who may, perhaps, as varying humour calls, Contract your cloisters and o'erthrow your walls; Let Repton loose o'er all the ancient ground, Change round to square, and square convert to round; Root up the elms' and yews' too solemn gloom, And fill with shrubberies gay and green their room; Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre, Where gravel'd walks and flowers alternate glare; And quite transform, in every point complete, Your Gothic abbey to a country seat.
Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day, When you beneath the female yoke shall bend, And lose your _wit_, your _temper_, and your _friend_. [A]
Trin. Coll. Camb., 1808.]
[Sub-Footnote A: In his mother's copy of Hobhouse's volume, Byron has written with a pencil,
"_I have lost them all, and shall WED accordingly_. 1811. B."]
[Footnote i:
Stanzas.
[MS. L.]
To the Same.
[Imit. and Transl., p 202.]]
[Footnote ii:
For one whose life is torment here, And only in the dust may sleep.
[MS. L.]]
[Footnote iii: The MS. inserts--
Lady I will not tell my tale For it would rend thy melting heart; 'Twere pity sorrow should prevail O'er one so gentle as thou art.
[MS. L.]]
REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT. [i]
1.
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.
2.
Can I forget--canst thou forget, When playing with thy golden hair, How quick thy fluttering heart did move? Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet, With eyes so languid, breast so fair, And lips, though silent, breathing love.
3.
When thus reclining on my breast, Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet, As half reproach'd yet rais'd desire, And still we near and nearer prest, And still our glowing lips would meet, As if in kisses to expire.
4.
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.
5.
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.
6.
Then tell me not, remind me not, [ii] Of hours which, though for ever gone, Can still a pleasing dream restore, [iii] Till thou and I shall be forgot, And senseless, as the mouldering stone Which tells that we shall be no more.
Aug. 13, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote i:
_A Love Song. To----.
[Imit. and Transl., p. 197.]
[Footnote ii:
_Remind me not, remind me not_.
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote iii:
_Must still_.
[MS. L.] ]
TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. [i]
1.
Few 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. [ii]
2.
But now, like me, too well thou know'st [iii] What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most Too soon forget they lov'd at all. [iv]
3.
And such the change the heart displays, So frail is early friendship's reign, [v] A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, Will view thy mind estrang'd again. [vi]
4.
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.
5.
As rolls the Ocean's changing tide, So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide Where stormy passions ever glow?
6.
It boots not that, together bred, Our childish days were days of joy: My spring of life has quickly fled; Thou, too, hast ceas'd to be a boy.
7.
And when we bid adieu to youth, Slaves to the specious World's controul, We sigh a long farewell to truth; That World corrupts the noblest soul.
8.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind [1] Dares all things boldly but to lie; When Thought ere spoke is unconfin'd, And sparkles in the placid eye.
9.
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.
10.
With fools in kindred vice the same, [vii] We learn at length our faults to blend; And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend.
11.
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?
12.
No; for myself, so dark my fate Through every turn of life hath been; Man and the World so much I hate, I care not when I quit the scene.
13.
But thou, with spirit frail and light, Wilt shine awhile, and pass away; As glow-worms sparkle through the night, But dare not stand the test of day.
14.
Alas! whenever Folly calls Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halls, The welcome vices kindly greet,)
15.
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.
16.
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.
17.
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?
18.
What friend for thee, howe'er inclin'd, Will deign to own a kindred care? Who will debase his manly mind, For friendship every fool may share?
19.
In time forbear; amidst the throng No more so base a thing be seen; No more so idly pass along; Be something, any thing, but--mean.
August 20th, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote 1: Stanzas 8-9 are not in the _MS_.]
[Footnote i:
'To Sir W. D., on his using the expression, "Soyes constant en amitie."'
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote ii:
'Twere well my friend if still with thee Through every scene of joy and woe, That thought could ever cherish'd be As warm as it was wont to glow.
[MS. L] ]
[Footnote iii:
_And yet like me._
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote iv:
_Forget they ever._
[MS. L. _Imit. and Transl_., p. 185.] ]
[Footnote v:
_So short._
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote vi:
_...a day Will send my friendship back again._
[MS. L.]
[Footnote vii:
_Each fool whose vices are the same Whose faults with ours may blend._
[_MS. L._]]
LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL. [1]
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.
2.
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.
3.
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.
4.
Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, In aid of others' let me shine; And when, alas! our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine?
5.
Quaff while thou canst: another race, When thou and thine, like me, are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead.
6.
Why not? since through life's little day Our heads such sad effects produce; Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use.
Newstead Abbey, 1808.
[First published in the seventh edition of 'Childe Harold'.]
[Footnote 1: Byron gave Medwin 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 dis-monasteried. 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."--Medwin's 'Conversations', 1824, p. 87.]
WELL! THOU ART HAPPY. [i] [1]
1.
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.
2.
Thy husband's blest--and 'twill impart Some pangs to view his happier lot: [ii] But let them pass--Oh! how my heart Would hate him if he loved thee not!
3.
When late I saw thy favourite child, I thought my jealous heart would break; But when the unconscious infant smil'd, I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
4.
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.
5. [iii]
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.
6.
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.
7.
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.
8.
I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling couldst thou trace; The sullen calmness of despair.
9.
Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart be still, or break.
November, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote 1: These lines were written after dining at Annesley with Mr. and Mrs. Chaworth Musters. Their daughter, born 1806, and now Mrs. Hamond, of Westacre, Norfolk, is still (January, 1898) living.]
[Footnote i:
_To Mrs.----_[erased].
[_MS. L._]
_To-----_.
[_Imit. and Transl_. Hobhouse, 1809.] ]
[Footnote ii:
_Some pang to see my rival's lot._
[_MS. L._] ]
[Footnote iii: MS. L. inserts--
_Poor little pledge of mutual love, I would not hurt a hair of thee, Although thy birth should chance to prove Thy parents' bliss--my misery._]
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. [1]
When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe And storied urns record who rest 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! 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. [i]
Newstead Abbey, October 30, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote 1: This monument is placed in the garden of Newstead. A prose inscription precedes the verses:--
"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."
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." In the will which the poet executed in 1811, he desired to be buried in the vault with his dog, and Joe Murray was to have the honour of making one of the party. When the poet was on his travels, a gentleman, to whom Murray showed the tomb, said, "Well, old boy, you will take your place here some twenty years hence." "I don't know that, sir," replied Joe; "if I was sure his lordship would come here I should like it well enough, but I should not like to lie alone with the dog."--'Life', pp. 73, 131.]
[Footnote i:
_I knew but one unchang'd--and here he lies.--
[_Imit. and Transl_., p. 191.] ]
TO A LADY, [1]
ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND IN THE SPRING. [i]
1.
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.
2.
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.
3.
Thus, Lady! will it be with me, [ii] And I must view thy charms no more; For, while I linger near to thee, I sigh for all I knew before.
4.
In flight I shall be surely wise, Escaping from temptation's snare: I cannot view my Paradise Without the wish of dwelling there. [iii] [2]
December 2, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote 1: Byron had written to his mother on November 2, 1808, announcing his intention of sailing for India in the following March. See 'Childe Harold', canto i. st. 3. See also Letter to Hodgson, Nov. 27, 1808.]
[Footnote 2: In an unpublished letter of Byron to----, dated within a few days of his final departure from Italy to Greece, in 1823, he writes:
"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 to me, January, 1814. 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''."]
[Footnote i:
'The Farewell To a Lady.'
['Imit. and Transl.']
[Footnote ii:
'Thus Mary!' (Mrs. Musters).
['MS'.]
[Footnote iii:
'Without a wish to enter there.'
['Imit. and Transl'., p. 196.] ]
FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. [i]
A SONG.