Thus, lady will it be with me, And I must view thy charms no more; For, while I linger near to thee, I sigh for all I knew before. In flight I shall be surely wise, I cannot view my paradise Without the wish of dwelling there. December 2, 1808. REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT. REMIND me not, remind me not, Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours, Till time unnerves our vital powers, Can I forget-canst thou forget, How quick thy fluttering heart did move? Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet, With eyes so languid, breast so fair, And lips, though silent, breathing love. And still our glowing lips would meet, And then those pensive eyes would close, I dreamt last night our love return'd, Then tell me not, remind me not, Of hours which, though for ever gone, And senseless, as the mouldering stone None, none hath sunk so deep as this- But transient in thy breast alone. And yet my heart some solace knew, When late I heard thy lips declare, In accents once imagined true, Remembrance of the days that were. Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 't is doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain. Yes! 't is a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine. AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM AND wilt thou weep when I am low? I would not give that bosom pain. 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 a while my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine. Oh lady blessed be that tear It falls for one who cannot weep; Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: L 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, [years? Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Then the season of youth and its vanities past, When the box of Pandora was opened on earth, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown, STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING ENGLAND. T IS done-and shivering in the gale But could I be what I have been, Which once my warmest wishes blest- 'Tis long since I beheld that eye As some lone bird, without a mate, And I will cross the whitening foam, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; I go-but wheresoe'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, "Twould soothe to take one lingering view, And bless thee in my last adieu; Yet wish I not those eyes to weep For him that wanders o'er the deep; 'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket, Ere we sail on board the Packet. Now our boatmen quit their mooring, And all hands must ply the oar; Baggage from the quay is lowering, We 're impatient, push from shore. All are wrangling, Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain, Why 't is hardly three feet square: Not enough to stow Queen Mab inWho the deuce can harbour there?" "Who, sir? plenty Nobles twenty Did at once my vessel fill." "Did they? Jesus, How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still : Then I'd scape the heat and racket Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet." Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you? Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you! On Braganza Help!"-"A couplet?"-"No, a cup Of warm water-" "What's the matter?" I shall not survive the racket Now at length we 're off for Turkey, Lord knows when we shall come back! Breezes foul and tempests murky May unship us in a crack. But, since life at most a jest is, As philosophers allow, Still to laugh by far the best is, Laugh at all things, Sick or well, at sea or shore; While we're quaffing, Let's have laughing Who the devil cares for more?- Falmouth Roads, June 30, 1809. TO FLORENCE. OH Lady! when I left the shore, I hardly thought to grieve once more Where panting Nature droops the head, Where only thou art seen to smile, I view my parting hour with dread. Though far from Albin's craggy shore, Divided by the dark-blue main; A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er, But wheresoe'er I now may roam, I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee: On thee, in whom at once conspire All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire, And, oh! forgive the word-to love. Forgive the word, in one who ne'er With such a word can more offend; And since thy heart I cannot share, Believe me, what I am, thy friend. And who so cold as look on thee, Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less? Nor be, what man should ever be, The friend of Beauty in distress? Ah! who would think that form had past Lady! when I shall view the walls The Turkish tyrants now enclose; Though mightiest in the lists of fame, And though I bid thee now farewell, LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA. As o'er the cold sepulchral stone Some name arrests the passer-by; And think my heart is buried here. September 14, 1809. STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast, Where Pindus' mountains rise, And angry clouds are pouring fast The vengeance of the skies. Our guides are gone, our hope is lost, But show where rocks our path have crost, Is yon a cot I saw, though low? How welcome were its shade!-ah, no! Through sounds of foaming waterfalls, My way-worn countryman, who calls A shot is fired-by foe or friend? The mountain-peasants to descend, Oh! who in such a night will dare To tempt the wilderness? And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear And who that heard our shouts would rise To try the dubious road? Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour! Yet here one thought has still the power While wandering through each broken path, O'er brake and craggy brow; While elements exhaust their wrath, Sweet Florence, where art thou? Not on the sea, not on the sea, Thy bark hath long been gone: Oh, may the storm that pours on me, Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc, And long ere now, with foaming shock. Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now Which mirth and music sped; At times from out her latticed halls And when the admiring circle mark The paleness of thy face, A half-form'd tear, a transient spark Of melancholy grace, Again thou 'lt smile, and blushing shun Some coxcomb's raillery; Nor own for once thou thought'st on one, Though smile and sigh alike are vain, My spirit flies o'er mount and main, STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THE THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, And now upon the scene I look, The azure grave of many a Roman; Thy charms might raise new Antonies. I cannot lose a world for thee, But would not lose thee for a world. THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN! WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810. THE spell is broke, the charm is flown! Each lucid interval of thought Recalls the woes of Nature's charter; And he that acts as wise men ought, But lives, as saints have died, a martyr. WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS. IF, in the month of dark December, Leander, who was nightly wont And think I've done a feat to-day. According to the doubtful story, 'T were hard to say who fared the best : For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. May 9, 1810. LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS. IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN : "FAIR Albion, smiling, sees her son depart To trace the birth and nursery of art: Noble his object, glorious is his aim; He comes to Athens, and he writes his name." BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING: THE modest bard, like many a bard unknown, Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own; But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse, His name would bring more credit than his verse. 1810. MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART Ζώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ. MAID of Athens, ere we part, By those tresses unconfined, Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; |