WHEN WE TWO PARTED. WHEN we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow And share in its shame. Who knew thee too well:Long, long shall I rue thec, Too deeply to tell. In secret we met In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? — With silence and tears. TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 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. But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most 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. As rolls the ocean's changing tide, Where stormy passions ever glow? 1808. [This copy of verses, and that which follows, originally appeared in the volume published, in 1809, by Mr. (now the Right Hon. Sir John) Hobhouse, under the title of " Imita It boots not that, together bred, Slaves to the specious world's control, 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. With fools in kindred vice the same, We learn at length our faults to blend ; And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend. Such is the common lot of man: Can we then 'scape from folly free? No; for myself, so dark my fate Through every turn of life hath been; But thou, with spirit frail and light, Alas! whenever folly calls Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halls, The welcome vices kindly greet) To join the vain, and court the proud. That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. For friendship every fool may share? No more so idly pass along : Be something, any thing, but mean. 18C8. tions and Translations, together with original poems," and bearing the modest epigraph -"Nos haec novimus esse nihil."] LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL.1 START not- nor deem my spirit filed: In me behold the only skull, From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee: The worm hath fouler lips than thine. 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. Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, Quaff while thou canst: another race, [Lord Byron gives 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 demonasteried. 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." It is now in the possession of Colonel Wildman, the proprietor of Newstead Abbey. In several of our elder dramatists, mention is made of the custom of quaffing wine out of similar cups. For example, in Dekker's "Wonder of a Kingdom," Torrenti says, "Would I had ten thousand soldiers' heads, Their skulls set all in silver; to drink healths 2 [These lines were printed originally in Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany. A few days before they were written, the Poet had been invited to dine at Annesley. On the infant daughter of his fair hostess being brought into the room, he started involuntarily, and with the utmost difficulty suppressed his emotion. To the sensations of that moment we are indebted for these beautiful stanzas.] INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, 3 This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the inscription by which the verses are preceded : "Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18. 1808." Lord 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 every thing, except old Murray." By the will executed in 1811, he directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog.] The [In the original MS. "To Mrs. Musters," &c. reader will find a portrait of this lady in Finden's Illustrations of Byron, No. III.] 2 [In the first copy, "Thus, Mary!"] 3 [In Mr. Hobhouse's volume, the line stood,-"Without a wish to enter there." The following is an extract from an unpublished letter of Lord Byron, written in 1823, only three days previous to his leaving Italy for Greece:"Miss Chaworth was two years older than myself. She married a man of an ancient and respectable family, but her And then those pensive eyes would close, I dreamt last night our love return'd, For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam Then tell me not, remind me not, Of hours which, though for ever gone, Till thou and I shall be forgot, And senseless as the mouldering stone THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME. When all our feelings were the same As still my soul hath been to thee. None, none hath sunk so deep as this- And yet my heart some solace knew, Yes; my adored, yet most unkind! Remembrance of that love remain. AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? I would not give that bosom pain. marriage was not a happier one than my own. Her conduct, however, was irreproachable; but there was not sympathy between their characters. I had not seen her for many years, when an occasion offered. I was upon the point, with her consent, of paying her a visit, when my sister, who has always had more influence over me than any one else, persuaded me not to do it. For,' said she, if you go you will fall in love again, and then there will be a scene; one step will lead to another, et cela fera un éclat. I was guided by those reasons, and shortly after married, with what success it is useless to say."] My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine; And for awhile my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine. Oh lady blessed be that tear It falls for one who cannot weep: Such precious drops are doubly dear To those whose eyes no tear may steep. Sweet lady! once my heart was warm With every feeling soft as thine; But beauty's self hath ceased to charm A wretch created to repine. Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again; Yet if they grieve thee, say not soI would not give that bosom pain. 1 In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring, And dreams that affection can never take wing, I had friends!-who has not?-but what tongue will avow, That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst change: Thou grow'st old-who does not?-but on earth what appears, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years? Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, We are jealous!-who's not?-thou hast no such alloy; For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. Then the season of youth and its vanities past, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown, And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. Some hours of freedom may remain as yet Shall these no more confess a manly sway, Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day, In his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's volume, now before us, Lord Byron has here written with a pencil.-"I have lost them all, and shall WED accordingly. 1811. B."] STANZAS TO A LADY 1, ON LEAVING ENGLAND. 'Tis done and shivering in the gale But could I be what I have been, 'Tis long since I beheld that eye As some lone bird, without a mate, I look around, and cannot trace One friendly smile or welcome face, And I will cross the whitening foam, I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
I go but wheresoc'er I flee, To think of every early scene, Of what we are, and what we've been, And who that dear loved one may be I've tried another's fetters too, [In the original, " To Mrs. Musters."] 2 [Thus corrected by himself, in his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany; the two last lines being originally |