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diff --git a/15368.txt b/15368.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7ee0fe4 --- /dev/null +++ b/15368.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2712 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fugitive Pieces, by George Gordon Noel Byron + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Fugitive Pieces + +Author: George Gordon Noel Byron + +Release Date: March 15, 2005 [EBook #15368] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FUGITIVE PIECES *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, William Flis, and the PG Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + +FUGITIVE PIECES + +BY + +GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON + + +REPRODUCED FROM THE FIRST EDITION + + +WITH A BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE + +BY + +MARCEL KESSEL + + + +PUBLISHED FOR + +THE FACSIMILE TEXT SOCIETY + +BY + +COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS + +NEW YORK: MCMXXXIII + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE + + +_Fugitive Pieces_, Byron's first volume of verse, was privately +printed in the autumn of 1806, when Byron was eighteen years of age. +Passages in Byron's correspondence indicate that as early as August +of that year some of the poems were in the printers' hands and that +during the latter part of August and during September the printing +was suspended in order that Byron might give his poems an "entire +new form." The new form consisted, in part, in an enlargement; for he +wrote to Elizabeth Pigot about September that he had nearly doubled +his poems "partly by the discovery of some I conceived to be lost, and +partly by some new productions." According to Moore, _Fugitive Pieces_ +was ready for distribution in November. The last poem in the volume +bears the date of November 16, 1806. + +A difficulty in supposing the date of completion of the volume to be +about November 16 is that two copies contain inscriptions in Byron's +hand with earlier dates. On the copy of the late Mr. J.A. Spoor, +of Chicago, the inscription reads: "October 21st Tuesday 1806--Haec +poemata ex dono sunt--Georgii Gordon Byron, Vale." That on the +copy in the Morgan library reads: "Nov. 8, 1806, H.P.E.D.S.G.G.B., +Southwell.--Vale!--Byron," the initials evidently standing for the +Latin words of the preceding inscription. The Latin "Vale" in each +inscription, however, suggests that it commemorates a leave-taking, +the date referring not to the presentation but to the farewell. + +It has been suggested that copies of the volume were distributed +earlier than November and that some of the poems, printed separately +and distributed in fly-leaf form, were added later. This would explain +such discrepancies as the early dates of the inscriptions, and the +presence of Byron's name on pages 46 and 48 in a volume otherwise +anonymous, but there is little evidence to support it. + +Moore's account of _Fugitive Pieces_ is that it was distributed in +November, Byron presenting the first copy to the Reverend J.T. Becher, +prebendary of Southwell minster, who objected to what he considered +the too voluptuous coloring of the poem "To Mary." The objection led +Byron to suppress the edition immediately, he himself burning nearly +every copy. This account is corroborated in part by Miss Pigot and in +part by Byron. + +Immediately after the destruction, Byron began the preparation of a +second volume, to replace _Fugitive Pieces_. This appeared in January, +1807, as _Poems on Various Occasions_, Byron describing it as "vastly +correct and miraculously chaste." Of the 38 poems that constitute +_Fugitive Pieces_, all except "To Mary," "To Caroline," and the last +six stanzas of "To Miss E.P." were reprinted in _Poems on Various +Occasions_. Nineteen of the original 38 poems occur in Byron's third +work, _Hours of Idleness_, published in June or July, 1807. All three +editions were printed by S. and J. Ridge, booksellers of Newark, +England. + +Byron himself never reprinted the poems "To Mary" or "To Caroline," or +the last six stanzas of "To Miss E.P." Except in a limited facsimile +of _Fugitive Pieces_, supervised by H. Buxton Forman in 1886, "To +Mary" has never been reprinted--not even in supposedly complete +editions of Byron's works. + +Only four copies of _Fugitive Pieces_ are known to-day, and one of +these is incomplete. The copy from which the present facsimile is made +was originally given by Byron to Becher and preserved by him in spite +of his objections to the poem "To Mary." From Becher's family it +passed into the possession of Mr. Faulkner, of Louth, solicitor for +the Becher family. In 1885 it was in the possession of H.W. Ball, +antiquary and bookseller of Barton-on-Humber, who sold it to H. Buxton +Forman. Forman used it for his facsimile, but incorporated certain +manuscript corrections of the original, so that his facsimile is not +exact. The original is now owned by Mr. Thomas J. Wise, who has kindly +permitted its use for the present facsimile. + +Of the other three copies, the incomplete one, lacking pages 17-20 +("To Mary") and all after page 58, is in the possession of the family +of the late Mr. H.C. Roe, of Nottingham. This was originally sent by +Byron to Pigot, then studying medicine in Edinburgh. Byron later asked +Pigot to destroy the copy and Pigot seems to have complied so far +as to tear out the offending verses "To Mary." For many years it was +thought that only the Pigot and Becher copies had escaped destruction +at Byron's hands. But another complete copy came to light in 1907 +and is now in the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York. This contains +numerous manuscript corrections and alterations, and seems to have +been used as a proof copy for _Poems on Various Occasions_ (not, as +has sometimes been stated, for _Hours of Idleness_). A fourth copy, +also complete, was offered at public sale in 1912, and is now in the +hands of the executors of the late Mr. J.A. Spoor, of Chicago. + +The present facsimile is an exact photographic reproduction of the +text with all typographical and other errors as in the original, +except that certain manuscript corrections which appear in the +original perforce appear in the photographic reproduction, as follows: + + Page 3, _To E_.... line 2. "me" has been inserted by hand. + + Page 8, stanza 5, line 2. A letter ("s"?) has been erased + between "so" and "oft," and + the second "e" of "meets" has + been inserted to replace "l." + + Page 14, line 10. "j" in "jargon" has been + inserted by hand. + + Page 19, stanza (11), line 1. "night" was originally printed + "might," the "m" later changed + to "n" by erasure. + + Page 24, stanza 4, line 4. "s" in "setting" has been + inserted by hand. + + Page 25, _Thoughts Suggested by_ "e" in "tremble" has been + _a College Examination_, inserted, correcting "trimble." + line 4. + + Page 31, line 4. "f" in "fast" was originally + "l," but was changed by hand. + +The text has been collated with that in the Morgan library, and +except for later corrections made in ink in the Morgan copy, the only +differences noted are as follows: + + 1.) On p. 5, in the first line of the footnote, the Morgan + copy reads "piece" where the Wise copy reads "p*ece," the + "[dotless i]" lacking. + + 2.) The two pages of signature M are incorrectly numbered in + the Wise copy as "41, 41," this copy having no page numbered + 42; and are incorrectly numbered in the Morgan copy as "40, + 42," the latter copy having no page numbered 41. The text of + these pages is identical. + +M.K. + + + + +_FUGITIVE PIECES._ + + + + +TO + +THOSE FRIENDS, + +AT + +WHOSE REQUEST THEY WERE PRINTED, + +FOR WHOSE + +AMUSEMENT OR APPROBATION + +THEY ARE + +SOLELY INTENDED; + +These TRIFLES are respectfully dedicated, + +BY THE + +_AUTHOR_. + + +As these POEMS are never intended to meet the public eye, no apology +is necessary for the form in which they now appear. They are printed +merely for the perusal of a few friends to whom they are dedicated; +who will look upon them with indulgence; and as most of them were, +composed between the age of 15 and 17, their defects will be pardoned +or forgotten, in the youth and inexperience of the WRITER. + + * * * * * + + + + +_FUGITIVE PIECES._ + + * * * * * + +ON LEAVING N--ST--D. + + + 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. + + Of the barons of old, who once proudly to battle + Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain; + The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry blast rattle, + Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. + + No more does old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, + Raise a flame in the breast, for the war laurell'd wreath, + Near Askalon's Towers John of Horiston[1] slumbers, + Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel by death. + + 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. + + On [2]Marston with Rupert[3] 'gainst traitors contending, + Four Brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field + For Charles the Martyr their country defending, + Till death their attachment to royalty scal'd. + + Shades of heroes farewell! your descendant departing, + From the seat of his ancestors, bids ye adieu! + Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting + New courage, he'll think upon glory, and you. + + Though a tear dims his eye at this sad separation, + 'Tis nature, not fear, which commands his regret; + Far distant he goes with the same emulation, + In the grave, he alone can his fathers forget. + + Your fame, and your memory, still will he cherish, + 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: Horiston Castle, in _Derbyshire_, an ancient seat of the +B--r--n family.] + +[Footnote 2: The battle of _Marston Moor_, where the adherents of +CHARLES I. were defeated.] + +[Footnote 3: Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to CHARLES I. He +afterwards commanded the Fleet, in the Reign of CHARLES II.] + + * * * * * + +TO E----. + + 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. + + * * * * * + +ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR AND VERY DEAR TO +HIM. + + * * * * * + + 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 aplendid 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 God-like 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. + Such sorrow brings me honour, not disgrace.[4] + +1802. + +[Footnote 4: 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 14) and his first Essay, be preferred submitting it to the +indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either +addition or alteration.] + + * * * * * + +TO D. ---- + + In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp, + A friend whom death alone could sever, + But envy with malignant grasp, + Has torn thee from my breast for ever. + +2. + + True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_, + But in my _heart_ thou keep'st thy seat; + 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. + + * * * * * + +TO ---- + + 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 could say. + + Though deep the grief, _thy_ tears exprest, + When love, and hope, lay _both_ o'erthrown, + Yet still, my girl, _this_ bleeding breast, + Throbb'd with deep sorrow, as _thine own_. + + But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, + When _thy_ sweet lips where join'd to mine; + The tears that from _my_ eye-lids flow'd, + Were lost in those which fell from _thine_. + + 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. + + 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. + + 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. + + * * * * * + +TO CAROLINE. + + 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 breaths 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 delusions 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_. + + * * * * * + + +TO MARIA ---- + + + 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. + + 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. + + 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. + + 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.-- + + 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, + + 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. + + 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. + + 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. + + 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. + + _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. + + * * * * * + +FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF +AESCHYLUS. + + + 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. + +HARROW, _December_ 1, 1804. + + * * * * * + + +LINES IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN," BY J.J. +ROUSSEAU, 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. + +_ANSWER TO THE ABOVE, ADDRESS'D TO MISS ----_. + + Dear simple girl those flattering arts, + (From which you'd guard frail female hearts,) + Exist but in imagination, + Mere phantoms of your own creation; + For he who sees that witching grace, + That perfect form, that lovely face; + With eyes admiring, oh! believe me, + He never wishes to deceive thee; + Once let you at your mirror glance, + You'll there descry that elegance, + Which from our sex demands such praises, + But envy in the other raises.-- + Then he who tells you of your beauty, + Believe me only does his duty; + Ah! fly not from the candid youth, + It is not flattery, but truth. + +_July_, 1804. + + * * * * * + + +ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS, AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL. + + + 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 Caesar's place; + So you degenerate share as hard a fate, + And seat _Pomposus_, where your _Probus_ sate. + Of narrow brain, but of a narrower soul, + 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 beheld in schools,) + Mistaking _pedantry_, for _learning's_ laws, + He governs, sanctioned but by self applause. + With him, the same dire fate attending Rome, + Ill-fated IDA! soon must stamp your doom; + Like her o'erthrown, forever lost to fame, + No trace of science left you, but the name. + +HARROW, _July_, 1805. + + * * * * * + + +EPITAPH ON A BELOVED FRIEND. + + + Oh Boy! forever lov'd, for ever dear, + What fruitless tears have wash'd thy honour'd bier; + What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath, + Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs of death. + Could tears have turn'd the tyrant in his course, + Could sighs have check'd his dart's relentless force; + Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, + Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey. + Thou still had'st liv'd, to bless my aching sight, + Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight: + Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born, + No titles did thy humble name adorn, + To me, far dearer, was thy artless love, + Than all the joys, wealth, fame, and friends could prove. + For thee alone I liv'd, or wish'd to live, + (Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive) + Heart broken now, I wait an equal doom, + Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb; + Where this frail form compos'd in endless rest, + I'll make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast; + That breast where oft in life, I've laid my head, + Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead; + This life resign'd without one parting sigh, + Together in one bed of earth we'll lie! + Together share the fate to mortals given, + Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven. + +HARROW, 1803. + + * * * * * + + +ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, WHEN DYING. + + + Animula! vagula, Blandula, + Hospes, comesque, corporis, + Quoe nunc abibis in Loca? + Pallidula, rigida, nudula, + Nec ut soles dabis Jocos. + +_TRANSLATION_. + + Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite! + Friend and associate of this clay, + To what unknown region borne, + Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight? + No more with wonted humour gay, + But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. + +1806. + + * * * * * + + +TO MARY. + + + Rack'd by the flames of jealous rage, + By all her torments deeply curst, + Of hell-born passions far the worst, + What hope my pangs can now assuage? + +2. + + I tore me from thy circling arms, + To madness fir'd by doubts and fears, + Heedless of thy suspicious tears, + Nor feeling for thy feign'd alarms. + +3. + + Resigning every thought of bliss, + Forever, from your love I go, + Reckless of all the tears that flow, + Disdaining thy polluted kiss. + +4. + + No more that bosom heaves for me, + On it another seeks repose, + Another riot's on its snows, + Our bonds are broken, both are free. + +5. + + No more with mutual love we burn, + No more the genial couch we bless, + Dissolving in the fond caress; + Our love o'erthrown will ne'er return. + +6. + + Though love than ours could ne'er be truer, + Yet flames too fierce themselves destroy, + Embraces oft repeated cloy, + _Ours_ came too _frequent_, to endure. + +7. + + You quickly sought a second lover, + And I too proud to share a heart, + Where once I held the _whole_, not _part_, + Another mistress must discover. + +8. + + Though not the _first_ one, who hast blest me, + Yet I will own, you was the dearest, + The one, unto my bosom nearest; + So I conceiv'd, when I possest thee. + +9. + + Even now I cannot well forget thee, + And though no more in folds of pleasure, + Kiss follows kiss in countless measure, + I hope _you_ sometimes will regret me. + +10. + + And smile to think how oft were done, + What prudes declare a sin to act is, + And never but in darkness practice, + Fearing to trust the tell-tale sun. + +11. + + And wisely therefore night prefer, + Whose dusky mantle veils their fears, + Of _this_, and _that_, of eyes and ears, + Affording shades to those that err. + +12. + + Now, by my foul, 'tis most delight + To view each other panting, dying. + In love's _extatic posture_ lying, + Grateful to _feeling_, as to _sight_. + +13. + + And had the glaring God of Day, + (As formerly of Mars and Venus) + Divulg'd the joys which pass'd between us, + Regardless of his _peeping_ ray. + +14. + + Of love admiring such a _sample_, + The Gods and Goddesses descending, + Had never fancied us offending, + But _wisely_ followed _our example_. + + * * * * * + + When to their airy hall, my father's voice, + Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice, + When pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride, + Or dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; + Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns, + To mark the spot, where earth to earth returns. + No lengthen'd scroll of virtue, and renown, + My _epitaph_, shall be my name alone; + If _that_ with honour fails to crown my clay, + Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay; + _That_, only _that_, shall single out the shot, + By _that_ remember'd, or fore'er forgot.-- + +1803. + + * * * * * + + +TO ---- + + +1. + + Oh! when shall the grave hide forever my sorrow? + Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay? + The present is hell! and the coming to-morrow, + But brings with new torture, the curse of to-day. + +2. + + From my eye flows no tear, from my lips fall no curses, + I blast not the fiends, who have hurl'd me from bliss, + For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses, + Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this-- + +3. + + Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning. + Would my lips breathe a flame, which no stream could assuage, + On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, + With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage. + +4. + + But now tears and curses alike unavailing, + Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; + Could they view us, our sad separation bewailing, + Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. + +5. + + Yet still though we bend with a feign'd resignation, + Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer, + Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolation, + In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. + +6. + + Oh! when, my ador'd, in the tomb will they place me, + Since in life, love and friendship, for ever are fled, + If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, + Perhaps they will leave unmolested--the dead. + +1805. + + * * * * * + + + +1. + + When I hear you express an affection so warm, + Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe, + For your lip, would the soul of suspicion disarm, + And your eye beams a ray, which can never deceive. + +2. + + Yet still, this fond bosom regrets whilst adoring, + That love like the leaf, must fall into the sear, + That age will come on, when remembrance deploring, + Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear. + +3. + + That the time must arrive, when no longer retaining + Their auburn, these locks must wave thin to the breeze. + When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, + Prove nature a prey to decay, and disease. + +4. + + 'Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features + Tho' I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree; + Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, + In the death which one day will deprive me of thee. + +5. + + No jargon of priests o'er our union was mutter'd, + To rivet the fetters of husband and wife; + By our lips, by our hearts, were our vows alone utter'd, + To perform them, in full, would ask more than a life. + +6. + + But as death my belov'd, soon or late, shall o'ertake us, + And our breasts which alive with such sympathy glow, + Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us, + When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low. + +7. + + Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, + Which from passion like ours will unceasingly flow; + Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full measure, + And quaff the contents as our nectar below. + +1805. + + * * * * * + + +ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL OF HARROW ON THE HILL. +1806. + + + Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection, + Embitters the present, compar'd with the past; + Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection, + And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last. + +2. + + Where fancy yet joys, to retrace the resemblance, + Of comrades in friendship, and mischief allied; + How welcome once more your ne'er fading remembrance, + Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd. + +3. + + Again I revisit the hills where we sported, + The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought; + The school where loud warn'd by the bell we resorted, + To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught. + +4. + + Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd, + As reclining at eve on yon tombstone I lay; + Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd, + To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. + +5. + + I once more view the room with spectators surrounded, + Where as Zanga I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; + While to swell my young pride such applauses resounded, + I fancied that MOSSOP[5] himself was outshone. + +6. + + Or as Lear I pour'd for the deep imprecation, + By my daughters of kingdom and reason depriv'd: + Till fir'd by loud plaudits, and self adulation, + I consider'd myself as a _Garrick_ reviv'd. + +7. + + Ye dreams of my boyhood how much I regret you, + As your memory beams through this agoniz'd breast, + Thus sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you, + Though this heart throbs to bursting by anguish possest. + +8. + + I thought this poor brain fever'd even to madness, + Of tears as of reason forever was drain'd, + But the drops which now flow down _this_ bosom of sadness, + Convince me, the springs have some moisture retain'd. + +9. + + Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection, + Has wrung from these eye-lids to weeping long dead, + In torrents, the tears of my warmest affection, + The last and the fondest, I ever shall shed. + +[Footnote 5: MOSSOP, a cotempory of GARRICK, famous for his +performance of _Zanga_, in YOUNG's tragedy of the _Revenge_.] + + * * * * * + + +THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION. + + + High in the midst surrounded by his peers, + M--ns--l his ample front sublime uprears; + Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a God, + While Sophs and Freshmen, tremble at his nod. + Whilst all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, + _His_ voice in thunder shakes the sounding dome; + Denouncing dire reproach, to luckless fools, + Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules. + + Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried, + Though little vers'd in any art beside; + Who with scarce sense to pen an _English_ letter, + Yet with precision, scans an _attic metre_. + + What! though he knows not how his fathers bled, + When civil discord pil'd the fields with dead, + When Edward bade his conquering bands advance, + Or Henry trampled on the crest of France; + Though marvelling at the name of _Magna Charta_, + Yet, well he recollects the _laws of Sparta_. + Can tell what edicts sage _Lycurgus_ made, + Whilst _Blackstone's_ on the _shelf neglected_ laid; + Of _Grecian dramas_ vaunts the deathless fame, + Of _Avon's bard_, remembering scarce the name. + + Such is the youth, whose scientific pate, + Class honours, medals, fellowships await; + Or even perhaps the _declamation_ prize, + If to such glorious height, he lifts his eyes. + But lo! no _common_ orator can hope + The envied silver cup within his scope; + Not that our _heads_ much eloquence require, + The ATHENIAN's glowing style, or TULLY's fire. + The _manner_ of the speech is nothing, since + We do not try by _speaking_ to _convince_; + Be other _orators_ of pleasing _proud_, + We speak to _please_ ourselves, not _move_ the crowd. + Our gravity prefers the _muttering_ tone, + A proper mixture of the _squeak and groan_; + No borrow'd _grace_ of _action_, must be seen, + The slightest motion would displease the _dean_. + Whilst every staring graduate would prate, + Against what, _he_ could never imitate. + + The man, who hopes t' obtain the promis'd cup, + Must in one _posture_ stand, and _ne'er look up_, + Nor _stop_, but rattle over _every_ word, + No matter _what_, so it can _not_ be heard; + Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest, + Who speaks the _fastest_, 's sure to speak the _best_; + Who utters most within the shortest space, + May safely hope to win the _wordy race_. + + The sons of _Science these_, who thus repaid, + Linger in ease, in Granta's sluggish shade; + Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie, + Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept for, die. + Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls, + They think all learning fix'd within their walls: + In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, + All modern arts, affecting to despise. + Yet prizing _Bentley's[6] Brunck's[6]_ or _Porson's_[7] note, + More than the _verse, on which the critic wrote_; + With eager haste, they court the tool of power, + (Whether 'tis PITT or PETTY rules the hour:) + To _him_, with suppliant smiles they bend the head, + Whilst mitres, prebends, to their eyes are spread. + But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, + They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his place; + _Such_ are the men who learning's treasures guard, + _Such_ is their _practice_, such is their _reward_; + This _much_ at least we may presume to say, + Th' _reward's_ scarce equal, to the _price_ they _pay_. + +1806. + +[Footnote 6: Celebrated Critics.] + +[Footnote 7: The present Greek Professor at Cambridge.] + + * * * * * + + +TO MARY, ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. + + +1. + + This faint resemblance of thy charms, + (Though strong as mortal art could give) + My constant heart of fear disarms, + Revives my hopes, and bids me live. + +2. + + Here I can trace the locks of gold, + Which round thy snowy forehead wave, + The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould, + The lips which made me _Beauty's_ slave. + +3. + + Here I can trace--ah no! that eye, + Whose azure floats in liquid fire, + Must all the painter's art defy, + And bid him from the task retire. + +4. + + Here I behold, its beauteous hue, + But where's the beam of soft desire? + Which gave a lustre to its blue, + Love, only love, could e'er inspire. + +5. + + Sweet copy! far more dear to me, + Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, + Than all the living forms could be, + Save her, who plac'd thee next my heart. + +6. + + She plac'd it, sad with needless fear, + Lest time might shake my wavering soul, + Unconscious that her image there, + Held every sense in fast controul. + +7. + + Through hours, through years, through time 'twill cheer, + My hope in gloomy moments raise; + In life's last conflict 't'will appear, + And meet my fond, expiring gaze. + + * * * * * + + +ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX, THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN +THE MORNING POST. + + + "Our Nation's foes, lament on _Fox's_ death, + "But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath; + "These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue, + "We give the palm, where Justice points its due." + +_To which the Author of these Pieces, sent the subjoined Reply, for +Insertion in the_ MORNING CHRONICLE.-- + + Oh! factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth, + Would mangle still the dead, in spite of truth, + What though our "nation's foes" lament the fate, + With generous feeling, of the good and great; + Shall therefore dastard tongues assail the name + Of him whose virtues claim eternal fame? + When PITT expired in plenitude of power, + Though ill success obscur'd his dying hour, + Pity her dewy wings before him spread, + For noble spirits "war not with the dead;" + His friends in tears, a last sad requiem gave, + And all his errors slumber'd in the grave. + He died an Atlas, bending 'neath the weight, + Of cares oppressing our unhappy state; + But lo! another Hercules appear'd, + Who for a time, the ruined fabric rear'd; + He too is dead! who still our England propp'd, + With him our fast reviving hopes have dropp'd; + Not one great people only raise his urn, + All Europe's far extended regions mourn. + "These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue, + "And give the palm where Justice points it due;" + But let not canker'd calumny assail, + And round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. + Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, + Whose dear remains in honoured marble sleep; + For whom at last, even hostile nations groan, + And friends and foes alike his talents own; + Fox! shall in Britain's future annals shine, + Nor e'en to _Pitt_, the patriot's _palm_ resign; + Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask, + For PITT, and PITT alone, would dare to ask. + + * * * * * + + +TO A LADY, WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR A LOCK OF HAIR, BRAIDED WITH HIS +OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGHT IN DECEMBER, TO MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN. + + + These locks which fondly thus entwine, + In firmer chains our hearts confine; + Than all th' unmeaning protestations, + Which swell with nonsense, love orations. + Our love is fix'd, I think we've prov'd it, + Nor time, nor place, nor art, have mov'd it; + Then wherefore should we sigh, and whine, + With groundless jealousy repine. + With silly whims, and fancies frantic, + Merely to make our love romantic. + Why should you weep like _Lydia Languish_, + And fret with self-created anguish. + Or doom the lover you have chosen, + On winter nights, to sigh half frozen: + In leafless shades, to sue for pardon, + Only because the scene's a garden. + For gardens seem by one consent + (Since SHAKESPEARE set the precedent;) + (Since Juliet first declar'd her passion) + To form the place of assignation. + Oh! would some modern muse inspire, + And seat her by a _sea-coal_ fire, + Or had the bard at Christmas written, + And laid the scene of love in Britain; + He surely in commiseration, + Had chang'd the place of declaration. + In Italy I've no objection, + Warm nights are proper for reflection; + But here, our climate is so rigid, + That love itself, is rather frigid; + Think on our chilly situation, + And curb this rage for imitation. + Then let us meet, as oft we've done, + Beneath the influence of the sun; + Or, if at midnight I must meet you, + Oh! let me in your chamber greet you; + _There_ we can love for hours together, + Much better in such snowy weather, + Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves, + That ever witness'd rural loves; + _There_ if my passion fail to please, + Next night I'll be content to freeze; + No more I'll give a loose to laughter, + But curse my fate, forever after. + + * * * * * + + +TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. + + + Sweet girl! though only once we met, + That meeting I shall ne'er forget; + And though we ne'er may meet again, + Remembrance will thy form retain; + I would not say, "I love" but still + My senses struggle with my will; + In vain to drive thee from my breast, + My thoughts are more and more represt, + In vain, I check the rising sighs, + Another to the last replies; + Perhaps this is not love, but yet + Our meeting I can ne'er forget. + + What though we never silence broke, + Our eyes a sweeter language spoke; + The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, + And tells a tale, it never feels; + Deceit, the guilty lips impart, + And hush the mandates of the heart, + But soul's interpreters, the eyes + Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise. + As thus our glances oft convers'd, + And all our bosoms felt, rehears'd, + No _spirit_ from within reprov'd us, + Say rather, "'twas the _spirit mov'd us_." + Though what they utter'd, I repress, + Yet, I conceive, thou'lt partly guess; + For, as on thee, my memory ponders, + Perchance, to me thine also wanders; + This for myself, at least I'll say, + Thy form appears through night, through day, + Awake, with it my fancy teems, + In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams; + The vision charms the hours away, + And bids me curse Aurora's ray; + For breaking slumbers of delight, + Which make me wish for endless night. + Since, oh! whate'er my future fate, + Shall joy or woe my steps await; + Tempted by love, by storms beset, + Thine image, I can ne'er forget. + + Alas! again no more we meet, + No more our former looks repeat; + Then let me breathe this parting prayer, + The dictate of my bosom's care: + "May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker, + "That anguish never can o'ertake her; + "That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, + "But bliss be aye, her heart's partaker: + "No jealous passion shall invade, + "No envy that pure breast pervade;" + For he that revels in such charms, + Can never seek another's arms; + "Oh! may the happy mortal fated, + "To be by dearest ties related; + "For _her_ each hour _new joy_ discover, + "And lose the husband in the lover. + "May that fair bosom never know + "What 'tis to feel the restless woe; + "Which stings the soul, with vain regret, + "Of him, who never can forget." + + * * * * * + + +TO JULIA! + + + Julia! since far from you I've rang'd, + Our souls with fond affection glow not; + You say 'tis I, _not you_ have chang'd, + I'd tell you why,--but yet I know not. + +2. + + Your polish'd brow, no cares have crost, + And Julia! we are not much older, + Since trembling first my heart I lost, + Or told my love with hope, grown bolder. + +3. + + Sixteen was then our utmost age, + Two years have lingering pass'd away, love! + And now new thoughts our minds engage, + At least, _I_ feel disposed to stray, love! + +4. + + 'Tis _I_, that am alone to blame, + _I_, that am guilty of love's treason; + Since your sweet breast, is still the same, + Caprice must be my only reason. + +5. + + I do not, love, suspect your truth, + With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not, + Warm was the passion of my youth, + One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. + +6. + + No, no, my flame was not pretended, + For oh! I lov'd you most sincerely, + And though our dream at last is ended, + My bosom still esteems you dearly. + +7. + + No more we meet in yonder bowers, + Perhaps my soul's too prone to roving, + But older, firmer _hearts_ than ours, + Have found monotony in loving. + +8. + + Your cheeks soft bloom is unimpair'd, + Your beauties still are daily bright'ning, + Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd, + The forge of love's resistless lightning. + +9. + + Arm'd thus to make their bosoms bleed, + Many will throng to sigh like me, love, + More constant they may prove indeed, + Fonder alas! they ne'er can be, love! + + * * * * * + + +TO WOMAN. + + + Surely experience might have told me, + That all must love thee, who behold thee; + Surely experience might have taught, + A woman's promises are naught, + But plac'd in all thy charms before me, + All I forget, but to _adore_ thee. + Oh memory! thou choicest blessing, + When join'd with hope, when still possessing; + Thou whisperest, as our hearts are beating, + "What oft we've done, we're still repeating." + But how much curst by every lover, + When hope is fled, and passion's over. + Woman that fair and fond deceiver, + How prompt are striplings to believe her, + How throbs the pulse, when first we view, + The eye that rolls in glossy blue; + Or sparkles black, or mildly throws, + A beam from under hazel brows; + How quick we credit every oath, + And hear her plight the willing troth; + Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye, + When lo! she changes in a day, + The Record will forever stand, + "That woman's vows, are writ in sand." + + * * * * * + + +AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE DELIVERED BY THE AUTHOR, PREVIOUS TO THE +PERFORMANCE OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE, AT A PRIVATE THEATRE. + + + Since the refinement of this polish'd age, + Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; + Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit, + Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; + Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, + Nor dare to call the blush from beauty's cheek; + Oh! let the modest muse some pity claim, + And meet indulgence--though she find not fame. + But not for _her_ alone, we wish respect, + _Others_ appear more conscious of defect; + To night, no _Veteran Roscii_ you behold, + In all the arts of scenic action old; + No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here, + No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear, + To night, you thong to witness the debut, + Of embryo actors to the drama new; + Here then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try, + Clip not our _pinions_, ere the _birds can fly_; + Failing in this our first attempt to soar, + Drooping, alas, we fall to rise no more. + Not one poor trembler only, fear betrays, + Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise; + But all our Dramatis Personae wait, + In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate; + No venal views our progress can retard, + Your generous plaudits are our sole reward; + For them each _Hero_ all his power displays, + Each timid _Heroine_ shrinks before your gaze: + Surely these last will some protection find, + None to the softer sex can prove unkind; + Whilst youth and beauty form the female shield, + The sternest critic to the fair must yield. + But should our feeble efforts nought avail, + Should, _after all_, our best endeavours fail; + Still let some mercy in your bosoms live, + And if you can't applaud, at least _forgive_. + + * * * * * + + +TO MISS E.P. + + +1. + + Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect, + Who to woman deny the soul's future existence, + Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect, + And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance. + +2. + + Had their Prophet possess'd but an atom of sense, + He ne'er would have _woman_ from Paradise driven, + But instead of his _Houris_ a flimsy pretence, + With _woman alone_, he had peopled his Heaven. + +3. + + But still to increase your calamities more, + Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit, + He allots but _one husband_ to share amongst four, + With _souls_ you'd dispense--but this last who could bear it. + +4. + + His religion to please neither _party_ is made, + On _husbands_ 'tis _hard_, to the wives most uncivil; + But I can't contradict what so oft has been said, + "Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil." + +5. + + This terrible truth, even Scripture has told, + Ye Benedicks! hear me, and listen with rapture; + If a glimpse of redemption you wish to behold, + Of St. MATT.--read the second and twentieth chapter. + +6. + + 'Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex'd, + With wives who eternal confusion are spreading; + "But in Heaven" (so runs the Evangelist's Text,) + "We neither have giving in marriage, or wedding." + +7. + + From this we suppose, (as indeed well we may,) + That should Saints after death, with their spouses put up more, + And wives, as in life, aim at absolute sway, + All Heaven would ring with the conjugal uproar. + +8. + + Distraction and discord would follow in course, + Nor MATTHEW, nor MARK, nor St. PAUL, can deny it, + The only expedient is general divorce, + To prevent universal disturbance and riot. + +9. + + But though husband and wife, shall at length be disjoin'd + Yet woman and man ne'er were meant to dissever, + Our chains once dissolv'd, and our hearts unconfin'd, + We'll love without bonds, but we'll love you forever. + +10. + + Though souls are denied you by fools and by rakes, + Should you own it yourselves, I would even then doubt you, + Your nature so much of _celestial_ partakes, + The Garden of Eden would wither without you. + +SOUTHWELL, _October_ 9, 1806. + + * * * * * + + +THE TEAR. + + +1. + + When Friendship or Love, + Our sympathies move, + When Truth in a glance should appear, + The lips may beguile, + With a dimple or smile, + But the test of affection's a _tear_. + +2. + + Too oft is a smile, + But the hypocrite's wile, + To mask detestation, or fear, + Give me the soft sigh, + Whilst the soul telling eye + Is dimm'd, for a time, with a _tear_. + +3. + + Mild charity's glow, + To us mortals below, + Shows the soul from barbarity clear, + Compassion will melt, + Where this virtue is felt, + And its dew is diffused in a _tear_. + +4. + + The man doom'd to sail, + With the blast of the gale, + Through billows Atlantic to steer, + As he bends o'er the wave, + Which may soon be his grave, + The green sparkles bright with a _tear_. + +5. + + The soldier braves death, + For a fanciful wreath, + In Glory's romantic career; + But he raises the foe, + When in battle laid low, + And bathes every wound with a _tear_. + +6. + + When with high bounding pride, + He returns to his bride, + Renouncing the gore crimson'd spear; + All his toils are repaid, + When embracing the maid, + From her eyelid he kisses the tear. + +7. + + Sweet scene of my youth, + Seat of Friendship and Truth, + Where Love chac'd each fast-fleeting year, + Loth to leave thee I mourn'd, + For a last look I turn'd, + But thy spire was scarce seen through a _tear_. + +8. + + Though my vows I can pour, + To my Mary no more, + My Mary to love once so _dear_, + In the shade of her bower, + I remember the hour, + She rewarded those vows with a _tear_. + +9. + + By another possest, + May she live ever blest, + Her name still my heart must revere, + With a sigh I resign, + What I once thought was mine, + And forgive her deceit with a _tear_. + +10. + + Ye friends of my heart, + Ere from you I depart, + This hope to my breast is most near, + If again we shall meet, + In this rural retreat, + May we _meet_, as we _part_, with a _tear_. + +11. + + When my soul wings her flight, + To the regions of night, + And my body shall sleep on its bier; + As ye pass by the tomb, + Where my ashes consume, + Oh! moisten their dust with a _tear_. + +12. + + May no marble bestow, + The splendour of woe, + Which the children of Vanity rear, + No fiction of fame, + Shall blazon my name, + All I ask, all I wish, is a _tear_. + +BYRON, _October 26_, 1806. + + * * * * * + + +REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J.M.B. PIGOT, ESQ. ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS +MISTRESS. + + +1. + + Why PIGOT, complain, + Of this damsel's disdain, + Why thus in despair, do you fret? + For months you may try, + But believe me a _sigh_, + Will never obtain a coquette. + +2. + + Would you teach her to love, + For a time seem to rove, + At first she may _frown_ in a _pet_; + But leave her awhile, + She shortly will smile, + And then you may _kiss_ your _coquette_. + +3. + + For such are the airs, + Of these fanciful fairs, + They think all our _homage_ a _debt_; + But a partial neglect, + Soon takes an effect, + And humbles the proudest _coquette_. + +4. + + Dissemble your pain, + And lengthen your chain, + Nor seem her _hauteur_ to _regret_, + If again you shall sigh, + She no more will deny, + That _yours_ is the rosy _coquette_. + +5. + + But if from false pride, + Your pangs she deride, + This whimsical virgin forget; + Some _other_ admire, + Who will _melt_ with your _fire_, + And laugh at the _little_ coquette. + +6. + + For _me_, I adore, + Some _twenty_ or more, + And love them most dearly, but yet, + Though my heart they enthral, + I'd abandon them all, + Did they act like your blooming _coquette_. + +7. + + No longer repine, + But form this design, + And break through her slight woven net; + Away with despair, + No longer forbear, + To fly from the captious coquette. + +8. + + Then quit her, my friend! + Your bosom defend, + Ere quite with her snares you're beset; + Lest your deep wounded heart + When incens'd by the smart, + Should lead you to _curse_ the coquette. + +BYRON, _October_ 27, 1806. + + * * * * * + + +GRANTA, A MEDLEY. + + + Oh! could LE SAGE's[8] demon's gift, + Be realized at my desire, + This night my trembling form he'd lift, + And place it on St. Mary's spire. + +2. + + Then would unroof'd old Granta's Halls + Pedantic inmates full display, + _Fellows_ who dream on _lawn_, or _stalls_, + The price of hireling votes to pay. + +3. + + Then would I view each rival Wight, + PETTY and PALMERSTON survey, + Who canvass now with all their might, + Against the next elective day. + +4. + + One on his power and place depends, + The other on the Lord knows what, + Each to some eloquence pretends, + But neither will convince by _that_. + +5. + + The first indeed may not demur, + Fellows are sage reflecting men, + And know preferment can occur, + But very seldom, _now_ and _then_. + +6. + + They know the Chancellor has got, + Some pretty livings in disposal, + Each hopes that _one_ may be his _lot_, + And therefore smiles at his proposal. + +7. + + Now from corruption's shameless scene, + I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, + And view unheeded, and unseen, + The studious sons of Alma Mater. + +8. + + There in apartments small and damp, + The candidate for college prizes, + Sits poring by the midnight lamp, + Goes late to bed and early rises. + +9. + + He surely well deserves to gain them, + And all the honours of His college, + Who striving hardly to obtain them, + Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge. + +10. + + Who sacrifices hours of rest, + To scan precisely metres attic, + And agitates his anxious breast, + In solving problems mathematic. + +11. + + Who reads false quantities in Sele,[9] + Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle, + And robs himself of many a meal, + In _barbarous latin_[10] doom'd to wrangle. + +12. + + Renouncing every pleasing page, + From authors of historic use, + Preferring to the lettered sage, + The square of the hypothenuse.[11] + +13. + + But harmless are these occupations, + Which hurt none but the hapless student; + Compared with other recreations, + Which bring together the imprudent. + +14. + + Whose daring revels shock the sight, + When vice and infamy combine, + When drunkenness and dice unite, + And every sense is steep'd in wine. + +15. + + Not so the methodistic crew, + Who plans of reformation lay, + In humble attitude they sue, + And for the sins of others pray. + +16. + + Forgetting that their pride of spirit, + And exultation in their trial; + Detracts most largely from the merit, + Of all their boasted self-denial. + +17. + + 'Tis morn,--from these I turn my sight, + What scene is this which meets the eye, + As numerous crowd array'd in white,[12] + Across the green in numbers fly. + +18. + + Loud rings in air, the chapel bell, + 'Tis hush'd,--what sounds are these I hear, + The organ's soft celestial swell, + Rolls deeply on the listening ear. + +19. + + To this is join'd the sacred song, + The royal minstrel's hallowed strain, + But _he_ who hears the _music_ long, + Will _never_ wish to _hear again_. + +20. + + Our choir would scarcely be excus'd, + Even as a band of raw beginners, + But mercy now must be refus'd, + To such a set of croaking sinners. + +21. + + If David when his toils were ended, + Had heard these blockheads sing before him, + To us his psalms had ne'er descended, + In furious mood he would have tore 'em. + +22. + + The luckless Israelites when taken, + By some inhuman tyrant's order, + Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken, + On Babylonian river's border. + +23. + + But had they sung in notes like these, + Inspir'd by stratagem, or fear, + They might have set their hearts at ease, + The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. + +24. + + _But if I write_ much longer now, + The deuce a soul _will stay to read_, + My pen is blunt, the ink is low, + 'Tis almost time to _stop, indeed_. + +25. + + Therefore farewell, old GRANTA's spires, + No more like _Cleofas_ I fly, + No more thy theme my muse inspires, + The reader's tired, and so am I. + +_October_ 28, 1806. + +[Footnote 8: The Diable Boiteux of LE SAGE, where Asmodeus the Demon, +places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses +for his inspection.] + +[Footnote 9: Sele's publication on Greek metres is not remarkable for +its accuracy.] + +[Footnote 10: Every Cambridge man will assent to this,--the Latin of +the Schools is almost unintelligible.] + +[Footnote 11: The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the +Hypothenuse, is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right +angled triangle.] + +[Footnote 12: On a Saint Day, the Students wear Surplices in Chapel.] + + * * * * * + + +TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. + + + Your pardon my friend, + If my rhymes did offend, + Your pardon a thousand times o'er, + From friendship I strove, + Your pangs to remove, + But I swear I will do so no more. + +2. + + Since your _beautiful_ maid + Your flame has repaid, + No more I your folly regret; + She's now most divine, + And I bow at the shrine, + Of this quickly reformed coquette. + +3. + + But still I must own, + I should never have known, + From _your verses_ what else she deserv'd, + Your pain seem'd so great, + I pitied your fate, + As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd. + +4. + + But since the chaste kiss, + Of this magical Miss, + Such wonderful transports produce, + Since the "_world you forget," + "When your lips once have met_," + My Counsel will get but abuse. + +5. + + You say "when I rove" + "I know nothing of love," + 'Tis true I am given to range, + If I rightly remember, + I've kiss'd a good number, + But there's pleasure at least in a change. + +6. + + I ne'er will advance, + By the rules of romance, + To humour a whimsical fair, + Though a smile may delight, + Yet a _frown_ wont _affright_, + Or drive me to dreadful despair. + +7. + + Whilst my blood is thus warm, + I ne'er shall reform, + To mix in the Platonist's school; + Of this I am sure, + Was my passion so pure, + _My mistress_ must think me _a fool_. + +8. + + Though the kisses are sweet, + Which voluptuously meet, + Of kissing I ne'er was so fond, + As to make me forget, + Though our lips oft have met, + That still there was _something beyond_. + +9. + + And if I should shun, + Every _woman_ for _one_, + Whose _image_ must fill my whole breast; + Whom I must _prefer_, + And _sigh_ but for _her_, + What an _insult_ 'twould be to the _rest_! + +10. + + Now, Strephon, good bye, + I cannot deny, + _Your passion_ appears most absurd, + Such _love_ as you plead, + Is _pure_ love indeed, + For it _only_ consists in the _word_. + + * * * * * + + +THE CORNELIAN. + + + No specious splendour of this stone, + Endears it to my memory ever, + With lustre _only once_ it shone, + But blushes modest as the giver. + +2. + + Some who can sneer at friendship's ties, + Have for my weakness oft reprov'd me, + Yet still the simple gift I prize, + For I am sure, the giver lov'd me. + +3. + + He offered it with downcast look, + As _fearful_ that I might refuse it, + I told him when the gift I took, + My _only fear_ should be to lose it. + +4. + + This pledge attentively I view'd, + And _sparkling_ as I held it near, + Methought one drop the stone bedew'd, + And ever since _I've lov'd a tear_. + +5. + + Still to adorn his humble youth, + Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield, + But he who seeks the flowers of truth, + Must quit the garden for the field. + +6. + + 'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth, + Which beauty shews, and sheds perfume, + The flowers which yield the most of both, + In nature's wild luxuriance bloom. + +7. + + Had Fortune aided nature's care, + For once forgetting to be blind, + _His_ would have been an ample share, + If well proportioned to his mind. + +8. + + But had the Goddess clearly seen, + His form had fixed her fickle breast, + _Her_ countless hoards would _his_ have been, + And none remain'd to give the rest. + + * * * * * + + +TO A. ---- + + Oh! did those eyes instead of fire, + With bright, but mild affection shine, + Though they might kindle less desire, + Love, more than mortal, would be thine. + +2. + + For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, + _Howe'er_ those orbs _may_ wildly beam, + We _must_ admire, but still despair, + That fatal glance forbids esteem. + +3. + + When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth, + So much perfection in thee shone, + She fear'd, that too divine for earth, + The skies might claim thee for their own. + +4. + + Therefore to guard her dearest work, + Lest angels might dispute the prize, + She bade a secret lightning lurk, + Within those once celestial eyes. + +5. + + These might the boldest Sylph appal, + When gleaming with meridian blaze, + Thy beauty must enrapture all, + But who can dare thine ardent gaze? + +6. + + 'Tis said that Berenice's hair, + In stars adorns the vault of heaven, + But they would ne'er permit _thee_ there, + _Thou_ would'st so far outshine the seven. + +7. + + For did those eyes as planets roll, + Thy sister lights would scarce appear, + E'en suns which systems now controul, + Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. + +_Friday, Nov. 7th_, 1806. + + * * * * * + + +AS THE AUTHOR WAS DISCHARGING HIS PISTOLS IN A GARDEN, TWO LADIES +PASSING NEAR THE SPOT, WERE ALARMED BY THE SOUND OF A BULLET HISSING +NEAR THEM. TO ONE OF WHOM THE FOLLOWING VERSES ON THE OCCASION, WERE +ADDRESSED THE NEXT MORNING. + + +1. + + Doubtless, sweet girl, the hissing lead, + Wafting destruction near thy charms, + And hurtling[13] o'er thy lovely head, + Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms. + +2. + + Surely some envious Demon's force, + Vex'd to behold such beauty here, + Impell'd the bullet's viewless course, + Diverted from its first career. + +3. + + Yes! in that nearly fatal hour, + The ball obey'd some hell-born guide, + But Heaven with interposing power, + In pity turn'd the death aside. + +4. + + Yet, as perchance one trembling tear, + Upon that thrilling bosom fell, + Which _I_, th' unconscious cause of fear, + Extracted from its glistening cell;-- + +5. + + Say, what dire penance can atone? + For such an outrage done to thee, + Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne, + What punishment wilt thou decree? + +6. + + Might I perform the Judge's part, + The sentence I should scarce deplore. + It only would restore a heart, + Which but belong'd to _thee_ before. + +7. + + The least atonement, I can make, + Is to become no longer free, + Henceforth, I breathe, but for thy sake. + Thou shall be _all in all_ to me. + +8. + + But thou perhaps may'st now reject + Such expiation of my guilt, + Come then--some other mode elect? + Let it be death--or what thou wilt. + +9. + + Choose then relentless! and I swear, + Nought shall thy dread decree prevent, + Yet hold--one little word forbear! + Let it be aught but _banishment_. + +[Footnote 13: This word is used by GRAY in his poem to the fatal +Sisters:-- + + "Iron sleet of arrowy shower, + _Hurtles_ through the darken'd air." + + * * * * * + + +TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. AD LESBIAM. + + + Equal to Jove, that youth must be, + _Greater_ than Jove he seems to me; + Who free from Jealousy's alarms, + Securely views thy matchless charms; + That cheek which ever dimpling glows, + That mouth from whence such music flows; + To him alike are always known, + Reserv'd for him, and him alone. + Ah Lesbia! though 'tis death to me, + I cannot choose, but look on thee; + But at the sight, my senses fly, + I needs must gaze, but gazing die; + Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, + Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres. + My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, + My limbs deny their slight support. + Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, + With deadly languor droops my head. + My ears with tingling echoes ring, + And life itself is on the wing; + My eyes refuse the cheering light, + Their orbs are veil'd in starless night: + Such pangs my nature sinks beneath, + And feels a temporary death.-- + + * * * * * + + +TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS, BY DOMITIUS MARSUS. + + + He who sublime in epic numbers roll'd, + And he who struck the softer lyre of love, + By Death's [14]_unequal_ hand alike controul'd, + Fit comrades in Elysian regions move. + +[Footnote 14: The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as +Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus, at his decease.] + + * * * * * + + +IMITATION OF TIBULLUS "SULPICIA AD CERINTUM." LIB. QUART. + + + Cruel Cerintus! does this fell disease, + Which racks my breast, your fickle bosom please. + Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain, + That I might live for love, and you again, + But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate, + By Death alone, I can avoid your hate. + + * * * * * + + +TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. LUCTUS DE NORTE PASSERIS. + + + Ye Cupids droop each little head, + Nor let your wings with joy be spread, + My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, + Which dearer than her eyes she lov'd: + For he was gentle and so true, + Obedient to her call he flew, + No fear, no wild alarm he knew, + But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd. + + And softly fluttering here, and there, + He never sought to cleave the air, + But chirrup'd oft, and free from care, + Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain. + But now he's pass'd the gloomy bourn, + From whence he never can return, + His death, and Lesbia's grief I mourn, + Who sighs alas! but sighs in vain. + + Oh curst be thou! devouring grave! + Whose jaws eternal victims crave, + From whom no earthly power can save, + For thou hast ta'en the bird away. + From thee, my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow, + Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow, + _Thou_ art the cause of all her woe, + Receptacle of life's decay. + + * * * * * + + +IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. TO ANNA. + + + Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, + A million scarce would quench desire, + Still would I steep my lips in bliss, + And dwell an age on every kiss; + Nor then my soul should sated be, + Still would I kiss, and cling to thee, + Nought should my kiss from thine dissever. + Still would we kiss, and kiss forever; + E'en though the number did exceed, + The yellow harvest's countless seed, + To part would be a vain endeavour, + Could I desist?--ah! never--never. + +_November_ 16, 1806. + + * * * * * + +Printed by S. and J. 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