The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 1. Poetry
Chapter 2
EARLY POEMS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. Fragment, Written Shortly after the Marriage of Miss Chaworth. First published in Moore's 'Letters and Journals of Lord Byron', 1830, i. 56 Remembrance. First published in 'Works of Lord Byron', 1832, vii. 152 To a Lady Who Presented the Author with the Velvet Band which bound her Tresses. 'Works', 1832, vii. 151 To a Knot of Ungenerous Critics. 'MS. Newstead' Soliloquy of a Bard in the Country. 'MS. Newstead' L'Amitié est L'Amour sans Ailes. 'Works', 1832, vii. 161 The Prayer of Nature. 'Letters and Journals', 1830, i. 106 Translation from Anacreon. Ode 5. 'MS. Newstead' [Ossian's Address to the Sun in "Carthon."] 'MS. Newstead' [Pignus Amoris.] 'MS. Newstead' [A Woman's Hair.] 'Works', 1832, vii. 151 Stanzas to Jessy. 'Monthly Literary Recreations', July, 1807 The Adieu. 'Works', 1832, vii. 195 To----. 'MS. Newstead' On the Eyes of Miss A----H----. 'MS. Newstead' To a Vain Lady. 'Works', 1832, vii. 199 To Anne. 'Works', 1832, vii. 201 Egotism. A Letter to J.T. Becher. 'MS. Newstead' To Anne. 'Works', 1832, vii. 202 To the Author of a Sonnet Beginning, "'Sad is my verse,' you say, 'and yet no tear.'" 'Works', 1832, vii. 202 On Finding a Fan. 'Works', 1832, 203 Farewell to the Muse. 'Works', 1832, vii. 203 To an Oak at Newstead. 'Works', 1832, vii. 206 On Revisiting Harrow. 'Letters and Journals', i. 102 To my Son. 'Letters and Journals', i. 104 Queries to Casuists. 'MS. Newstead' Song. Breeze of the Night. 'MS. Lovelace' To Harriet. 'MS. Newstead' There was a Time, I need not name. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 200 And wilt Thou weep when I am low? 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 202 Remind me not, Remind me not. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 197 To a Youthful Friend. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 185 Lines Inscribed upon a Cup Formed from a Skull. First published, 'Childe Harold', Cantos i., ii. (Seventh Edition), 1814 Well! Thou art Happy. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 192 Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 190 To a Lady, On Being asked my reason for quitting England in the Spring. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 195 Fill the Goblet Again. A Song. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 204 Stanzas to a Lady, on Leaving England. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 227
ENGLISH BARDS, AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS
HINTS FROM HORACE
THE CURSE OF MINERVA
THE WALTZ
HOURS OF IDLENESS
AND OTHER EARLY POEMS.
ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. [i]
Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desart comes: it howls in thy empty court.-OSSIAN. [1]
I.
Through thy battlements, Newstead, [2] the hollow winds whistle: [ii] Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way.
2.
Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly, to battle, [iii] Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, [3] The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry blast rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
3.
No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell'd wreath; Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan [4] slumbers, Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel, by death.
4.
Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy; For the safety of Edward and England they fell: My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye: How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.
5.
On Marston, [5] with Rupert, [6] 'gainst traitors contending, Four brothers enrich'd, with their blood, the bleak field; For the rights of a monarch their country defending, [iv] Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. [7]
6.
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu! [v] Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.
7.
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, [vi] 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; [vii] Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, The fame of his Fathers he ne'er can forget. [viii]
8.
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish; [ix] He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown: Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own!
1803.
[Footnote 1: The motto was prefixed in _Hours of Idleness_.]
[Footnote 2: The priory of Newstead, or de Novo Loco, in Sherwood, was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II. On the dissolution of the monasteries it was granted (in 1540) by Henry VIII. to "Sir John Byron the Little, with the great beard." His portrait is still preserved at Newstead.]
[Footnote 3: No record of any crusading ancestors in the Byron family can be found. Moore conjectures that the legend was suggested by some groups of heads on the old panel-work at Newstead, which appear to represent Christian soldiers and Saracens, and were, most probably, put up before the Abbey came into the possession of the family.]
[Footnote 4: Horistan Castle, in _Derbyshire_, an ancient seat of the B--R--N family [4to]. (Horiston.--4to.)]
[Footnote 5: The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.]
[Footnote 6: Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the Fleet, in the reign of Charles II.]
[Footnote 7: Sir Nicholas Byron, the great-grandson of Sir John Byron the Little, distinguished himself in the Civil Wars. He is described by Clarendon (_Hist, of the Rebellion_, 1807, i. 216) as "a person of great affability and dexterity, as well as martial knowledge." He was Governor of Carlisle, and afterwards Governor of Chester. His nephew and heir-at-law, Sir John Byron, of Clayton, K.B. (1599-1652), was raised to the peerage as Baron Byron of Rochdale, after the Battle of Newbury, October 26, 1643. He held successively the posts of Lieutenant of the Tower, Governor of Chester, and, after the expulsion of the Royal Family from England, Governor to the Duke of York. He died childless, and was succeeded by his brother Richard, the second lord, from whom the poet was descended. Five younger brothers, as Richard's monument in the chancel of Hucknall Torkard Church records, "faithfully served King Charles the First in the Civil Wars, suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their present fortunes." (See _Life of Lord Byron_, by Karl Elze: Appendix, Note (A), p. 436.)]
[Footnote i: 'On Leaving N ... ST ... D.'--[4to] 'On Leaving Newstead.'--('P. on V. Occasions.')]
[Footnote ii:
'Through the cracks in these battlements loud the winds whistle For the hall of my fathers is gone to decay; And in yon once gay garden the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way'.
[4to]]
[Footnote iii:
'Of the barons of old, who once proudly to battle'.
[4to]]
[Footnote iv:
'For Charles the Martyr their country defending'.
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]
[Footnote v: 'Bids ye adieu!' [4to]]
[Footnote vi: 'Though a tear dims.' [4to]]
[Footnote vii: ''Tis nature, not fear, which commands his regret'. [4to]]
[Footnote viii: 'In the grave he alone can his fathers forget'. [4to]]
[Footnote ix: 'Your fame, and your memory, still will he cherish'. [4to]]
TO E---[1]
Let Folly smile, to view the names Of thee and me, in Friendship twin'd; Yet Virtue will have greater claims To love, than rank with vice combin'd.
And though unequal is _thy_ fate, Since title deck'd my higher birth; Yet envy not this gaudy state, _Thine_ is the pride of modest worth.
Our _souls_ at least congenial meet, Nor can _thy_ lot _my_ rank disgrace; Our intercourse is not less sweet, Since worth of rank supplies the place.
_November_, 1802.
[Footnote 1: E---was, according to Moore, a boy of Byron's own age, the son of one of the tenants at Newstead.]
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, [1] COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.
1.
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb, And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
2.
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay, where once such animation beam'd; The King of Terrors seiz'd her as his prey; Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.
3.
Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate, Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the Muse her virtues would relate.
4.
But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; And weeping angels lead her to those bowers, Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.
5.
And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign! And, madly, Godlike Providence accuse! Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;-- I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.
6.
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. [i]
1802.
[Footnote 1: The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of fourteen), and his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration.--[4to]
"My first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of a passion for--my first cousin, Margaret Parker (daughter and granddaughter of the two Admirals Parker), one of the most beautiful of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten the verse; but it would be difficult for me to forget her--her dark eyes--her long eye-lashes--her completely Greek cast of face and figure! I was then about twelve--she rather older, perhaps a year. She died about a year or two afterwards, in consequence of a fall, which injured her spine, and induced consumption ... I knew nothing of her illness, being at Harrow and in the country till she was gone. Some years after, I made an attempt at an elegy--a very dull one."--_Byron Diary_, 1821; _Life_, p. 17.
[Margaret Parker was the sister of Sir Peter Parker, whose death at Baltimore, in 1814, Byron celebrated in the "Elegiac Stanzas," which were first published in the poems attached to the seventh edition of _Childe Harold_.]
[Footnote i: _Such sorrow brings me honour, not disgrace_. [4to]]
TO D---[1]
1.
In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant grasp, [i] Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
2.
True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_, Yet, in my _heart_, thou keep'st thy seat; [ii] There, there, thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat.
3.
And, when the grave restores her dead, When life again to dust is given, On _thy dear_ breast I'll lay my head-- Without _thee! where_ would be _my Heaven?_
February, 1803.
[Footnote 1: George John, 5th Earl Delawarr (1791-1869). (See _note_ 2, p. 100; see also lines "To George, Earl Delawarr," pp. 126-128.)]
[Footnote i:
_But envy with malignant grasp, Has torn thee from my breast for ever.
[4to]]
[Footnote ii: _But in my heart_. [4to]]
TO CAROLINE. [i]
1.
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay; And heard _unmov'd_ thy plenteous sighs, Which said far more than words can say? [ii]
2.
Though keen the grief _thy_ tears exprest, [iii] When love and hope lay _both_ o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, _this_ bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as _thine own_.
3.
But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When _thy_ sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from _my_ eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from _thine_.
4.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, _Thy_ gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In _sighs alone_ it breath'd my name.
5.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But _that_, will make us weep the more.
6.
Again, thou best belov'd, adieu! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only _hope_ is, to _forget_!
1805.
[Footnote i: _To_----. [4to]]
[Footnote ii: _than words could say_. [4to]]
[Footnote iii: _Though deep the grief_. [4to]]
TO CAROLINE. [1]
1.
You say you love, and yet your eye No symptom of that love conveys, You say you love, yet know not why, Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
2.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee.
3.
Whene'er we meet my blushes rise, And mantle through my purpled cheek, But yet no blush to mine replies, Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak.
4.
Your voice alone declares your flame, And though so sweet it breathes my name, Our passions still are not the same; Alas! you cannot love like me.
5.
For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow, And though so oft it meets my kiss, It burns with no responsive glow, Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
6.
Ah! what are words to love like _mine_, Though uttered by a voice like thine, I still in murmurs must repine, And think that love can ne'er be _true_,
7.
Which meets me with no joyous sign, Without a sigh which bids adieu; How different is my love from thine, How keen my grief when leaving you.
8.
Your image fills my anxious breast, Till day declines adown the West, And when at night, I sink to rest, In dreams your fancied form I view.
9.
'Tis then your breast, no longer cold, With equal ardour seems to burn, While close your arms around me fold, Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
10.
Ah! would these joyous moments last; Vain HOPE! the gay delusion's past, That voice!--ah! no, 'tis but the blast, Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
11.
But when _awake_, your lips I seek, And clasp enraptur'd all your charms, So chill's the pressure of your cheek, I fold a statue in my arms.
12.
If thus, when to my heart embrac'd, No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd, You may be prudent, fair, and _chaste_, But ah! my girl, you _do not love_.
[Footnote 1: These lines, which appear in the Quarto, were never republished.]
TO EMMA. [1]
1.
Since now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover; Since now, our dream of bliss is past, One pang, my girl, and all is over.
2.
Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Which tears me far from _one_ so dear, _Departing_ for a distant shore.
3.
Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, And joy will mingle with our tears; When thinking on these ancient towers, The shelter of our infant years;
4.
Where from this Gothic casement's height, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell, And still, though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell,
5.
O'er fields through which we us'd to run, And spend the hours in childish play; O'er shades where, when our race was done, Reposing on my breast you lay;
6.
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss, It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes:
7.
See still the little painted _bark_, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park, The _elm_ I clamber'd for your sake.
8.
These times are past, our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes, I must retrace alone; Without thee, what will they avail?
9.
Who can conceive, who has not prov'd, The anguish of a last embrace? When, torn from all you fondly lov'd, You bid a long adieu to peace.
10.
_This_ is the deepest of our woes, For _this_ these tears our cheeks bedew; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, _last_ adieu!
1805.
[Footnote 1: To Maria--[4to]]
FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES: FROM THE "PROMETHEUS VINCTUS" OF AESCHYLUS,
[Greek: Maedam o panta nem_on, K.T.L_] [1]
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne Both Gods and mortals homage pay, Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall, In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; My voice shall raise no impious strain, 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.
...
How different now thy joyless fate, Since first Hesione thy bride, When plac'd aloft in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd, And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd; The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd, [2]
HARROW, December 1, 1804.
[Footnote 1: The Greek heading does not appear in the Quarto, nor in the three first Editions.]
[Footnote 2: "My first Harrow verses (that is, English, as exercises), a translation of a chorus from the 'Prometheus' of Æschylus, were received by Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our headmaster), but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poetry."--'Life', p. 20. The lines are not a translation but a loose adaptation or paraphrase of part of a chorus of the 'Prometheus Vinctus', I, 528, 'sq.']
LINES
WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN, BY J. J. ROUSSEAU; [1] FOUNDED ON FACTS."
"Away, away,--your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts; And _you_ will _smile_ at their believing, And _they_ shall _weep_ at your deceiving."
[Footnote 1: A second edition of this work, of which the title is, _Letters, etc., translated from the French of Jean Jacques Rousseau_, was published in London, in 1784. It is, probably, a literary forgery.]
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, [i] ADDRESSED TO MISS----.
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts, (From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,)[ii] Exist but in imagination, Mere phantoms of thine own creation; [iii] For he who views that witching grace, That perfect form, that lovely face, With eyes admiring, oh! believe me, He never wishes to deceive thee: Once in thy polish'd mirror glance [iv] Thou'lt there descry that elegance Which from our sex demands such praises, But envy in the other raises.-- Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, [v] Believe me, only does his duty: Ah! fly not from the candid youth; It is not flattery,--'tis truth. [vi]
July, 1804.
[Footnote i: _Answer to the above._ [4to] ]
[Footnote ii: _From which you'd._ [4to] ]
[Footnote iii:
_Mere phantoms of your own creation; For he who sees_. [4to]]
[Footnote iv:
_Once let you at your mirror glance You'll there descry that elegance,_ [4to]]
[Footnote v:
_Then he who tells you of your beauty._ [4to]]
[Footnote vi:
_It is not flattery, but truth_. [4to]]
ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL. [1]
Where are those honours, IDA! once your own, When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne? As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, Hail'd a Barbarian in her Cæsar's place, So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, And seat _Pomposus_ where your _Probus_ sate. Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, [i] Pomposus holds you in his harsh controul; Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, With florid jargon, and with vain parade; With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules, (Such as were ne'er before enforc'd in schools.) [ii] Mistaking _pedantry_ for _learning's_ laws, He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause; With him the same dire fate, attending Rome, Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom: Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame, No trace of science left you, but the name,
HARROW, July, 1805.
[Footnote 1: In March, 1805, Dr. Drury, the Probus of the piece, retired from the Head-mastership of Harrow School, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler, the Pomposus. "Dr. Drury," said Byron, in one of his note-books, "was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father." Out of affection to his late preceptor, Byron advocated the election of Mark Drury to the vacant post, and hence his dislike of the successful candidate. He was reconciled to Dr. Butler before departing for Greece, in 1809, and in his diary he says, "I treated him rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since." (See allusions in and notes to "Childish Recollections," pp. 84-106, and especially note I, p. 88, notes I and 2, p. 89, and note I, p. 91.)] ]
[Footnote i:
----_but of a narrower soul_.--[4to]]
[Footnote ii:
_Such as were ne'er before beheld in schools._--[4to]]
EPITAPH ON A BELOVED FRIEND.[1]
[Greek: Astaer prin men elampes eni tsuoisin hepsos.]
[Plato's Epitaph (Epig. Græc., Jacobs, 1826, p. 309), quoted by Diog. Laertins.]
Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever dear! [i] What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier! What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death! Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force; Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey; Thou still hadst liv'd to bless my aching sight, Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight. If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, But living statues there are seen to weep; Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. What though thy sire lament his failing line, A father's sorrows cannot equal mine! Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer, Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here: But, who with me shall hold thy former place? Thine image, what new friendship can efface? Ah, none!--a father's tears will cease to flow, Time will assuage an infant brother's woe; To all, save one, is consolation known, While solitary Friendship sighs alone.
HARROW, 1803. [2]
[Footnote i: