Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn: To mark a friend's remains these stones arise; I never knew but one,-and here he lies. TO A LADY, ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING WHEN Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers, And found in busier scenes relief. Thus, lady will it be with me, And I must view thy charms no more; In flight I shall be surely wise, Without the wish of dwelling there. REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT. Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours, Can I forget-canst thou forget, With eyes so languid, breast so fair, And lips, though silent, breathing love. And then those pensive eyes would close, Than if for other hearts I burn'd, For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam In rapture's wild reality. Then tell me not, remind me not, Of hours which, though for ever gone, Till thou and I shall be forgot, THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT THERE was a time, I need not name, As still my soul hath been to thee. None, none hath sunk so deep as thisTo think how all that love hath flown; Transient as every faithless kiss, 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, but most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain. Yes! 'tis 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? 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. O lady! blessed be that tear It falls for one who cannot weep; But beauty's self hath ceased to charm I would not give that bosom pain. FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. FILL the goblet again! for I never before Let us drink!-who would not ?-since, through life's varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found. I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye; I have loved !-who has not ?-but what heart can declare, That pleasure existed while passion was there? 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, Should a rival bow down to your idol below, 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, For refuge we fly to the goblet at last ; [soul, There we find-do we not?-in the flow of the That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth, Hope was left,-was she not ?- but the goblet we kiss, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life to the grape! for when summer has flown, The age of our nectar shall gladden our own: We must die-who shall not ?-May our sins be forgiven, And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. STANZAS TO A LADY,* ON LEAVING 'Tis done-and shivering in the gale ⚫ Mrs Musters, formerly Mary Chaworth And whistling o'er the bending mast, 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 And I will cross the whitening foam, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; The poorest, veriest wretch on earth 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, LINES TO MR HODGSON. WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET. HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last; Bend the canvas o'er the mast. Cases cracking, Not a corner for a mouse Now our boatmen quit their mooring, Thus are screaming All are wrangling, Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain, Why 'tis hardly three feet square: Not enough to stow Queen Mab inWho the deuce can harbour there?' 'Who, sir? plenty Nobles twenty 'Did they? Jesus, How you squeeze us! Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you? Hobhouse muttering fearful curses, As the hatchway down he rolls, Now his breakfast, now his verses, Vomits forth-and damns our souls. 'Here's a stanza On Braganza Help!'-'A couplet?'-'No, a cup 'What's the matter?' 'Zounds! my liver's coming up; I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.' Now at length we're off for Turkey, May unship us in a crack. Great and small things, Let's have laughing Who the devil cares for more?Some good wine! and who would lack it, Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet? TO FLORENCE. OH Lady! when I left the shore, Yet here, amidst this barren isle, 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, Perchance I view her cliffs again : But wheresoe'er I now may roam, Through scorching clime and varied sea, Though Time restore me to my home, 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 wanderer, and be less? Nor be, what man should ever be, The friend of Beauty in distress? Ah! who would think that form had past Through Danger's most destructive path, Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast, The Turkish tyrants now enclose; Though mightiest in the lists of fame, And though I bid thee now farewell, When I behold that wondrous scene, Since where thou art I may not dwell, 'Twill soothe to be where thou hast been. LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA. As o'er the cold sepulchral stone Some name arrests the passer-by; Thus, when thou view'st this page alone, May mine attract thy pensive eye! And when by thee that name is read, Perchance in some succeeding year, Reflect on me as on the dead, And think my heart is buried here. STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM, AND WHILE BEWILDERED NEAR MOUNT PINDUS IN ALBANIA. 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? When lightning broke the gloomHow welcome were its shade !-ah, no! "Tis but a Turkish tomb. Through sounds of foaming waterfalls, A shot is fired-by foe or friend? The mountain-peasants to descend, Oh! who in such a night will dare And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear And who that heard our shouts would rise Nor rather deem from nightly cries That outlaws were abroad? Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour! Yet here one thought has still the power While wandering through each broken path, While elements exhaust their wrath, Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now And since I now remember thee Which mirth and music sped; At times, from out her latticed halls, And when the admiring circle mark A half-form'd tear, a transient spark Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun 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 AMBRACIAN GULF. THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, Full beams the moon on Actium's coast : And on these waves, for Egypt's queen, The ancient world was won and lost. And now upon the scene I look, The azure grave of many a Roman; Where stern Ambition once forsook His wavering crown to follow woman. Florence! whom I will love as well But would not lose thee for a world. THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810. 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 IF, in the month of dark December, If, when the wintry tempest roar'd, ⚫ Mrs Spencer Smith. On the 3rd of May, 1810, while the Salsette (Captain Bathirst) was lying in the Dardanelles, Lieutenant Ekenhead of that frigate and the writer of these rhymes swam from the European shore to the Asiatic-by the by, from Abydos to Sestos would have been more correct. The whole distance from the place whence we started to our landing on the other side, including the length we were carried by the current, was Computed by those on board the frigate at upwards of four English miles, though the actual breadth is barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat can row directly across; and it may, in some measure, be estimated from the circumstance of the whole distance being accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and by the other in an hour and ten minutes. The water was extremely cold, from the melting of the mountain snows. About three weeks before, in April, we had made an attempt; but having ridden all the way from the Troad the same morning, and the water being of an icy chillness, we found it necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate anchored below the castles, when we swam the grate, as just stated; entering a considerable way above the European, and landing below the Asiatic fort. Chevalier says that a young Jew swan the same distance for his mistress, and Ouver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but er consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number of the Salsette's crew were known to have accomplished a greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was, that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander's y no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain its pracDicabuity. My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, According to the doubtful story, 'Twere hard to say who fared the best ; Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you! He lost his labour, I my jest ; For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. LINES WRITTEN IN THE TRAVEL- IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN: THE modest bard, like many a bard unknown, MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. MAID of Athens, ere we part, By those tresses unconfined, By that lip I long to taste; Maid of Athens! I am gone: ⚫ Romaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it, I shall affront the gentlemen, as it may seem that I suppose they could not; and if I do not, I may affront the ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging pardon of the learned. It means, 'My life, I love you! which sounds very prettily in all languages, and is as much in fashion in Greece at this day, as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenized. In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble assignations), flowers, cinders, pebbles, &c., convey the sentiments of the parties, by that universal deputy of Mercury-an old woman. A cinder says, I burn for thee;' a bunch of flowers tied with hair, Take me and fly;' but a pebble declares-what nothing else can. |