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Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And freedom hallows with her tread
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THE
PLEASURES OF MEMORY ABSENT or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong! As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn, thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall come,
By friondship ever deem'd too nigh, And « MEMORY » o'er her Druid's tomb
Shall weep that aught of thee can die, How fondly will she then repay
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, And blend, while ages roll away, Her name immortally with thine!
April 19, 1812.
[FROM THE FRENCH.) FAREWELL to the land where the gloom of my glory Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name: She abandons me now,---but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame. I have warr'd with a world, which vanquish'd me only When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus
lonely, The last single captive to millions in war! Farewell to thee, France !--when thy diadem crown'd me, I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth, But thy weakness decrces I should leave as I found thee, Decay'd in thy glory and sunk in thy worth. Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted In strife with the storm, when their battles were won! Then the eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on Victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France !— but when liberty rallies
bound usThen turn thee, and call on the chief of thy choice!
STANZAS TO ** Though the day of my destiny 's over,
And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover
The faults which so many could find :
It shrunk not to share it with me,
It never hath found but in thee.
The last smile which answers to mine,
Because it reminds me of thine;
As the breasts I believed in with me,
It is that they bear me from thee.
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
To pain-it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me:
They may crush, but they shall not contemnThey may torture, but shall not subdue me :
*T is of thee that I think-not of them. Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slander'd thou never couldst shake,Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Nor mute, that the world might belie.
Nor the war of the many with one ; If my soul was not fitted to prize it,
'T was folly not sooner to shun. And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee, I have found that, whatever it lost me,
It could not deprive me of thee.
Thus much I at least may recal,
Deserved to be dearest of all.
Leman!' these names are worthy of thy shore,
Thy shore of names like these ; wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recal: To them thy banks were lovely as to all;
But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core Of human hearts the ruin of a wall
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,
In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea,
Which of the heirs of immortality
" Geneva, Ferncy, Coppet, Lausanne.
In the desert a fountain is springing,
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their cyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
aspects-saw, apd shriek'd and diedThe bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Famine had wrillen fiend. The world was void, Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air. The populous and the powerful was a lump, Morn came, and went-aod came, and brougbt no day; Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifelessAnd men forgot their passions in the dread
A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay. Of this their desolation; and all hearts
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths ;
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp d, The habitations of all things which dwell,
They slept on ile abyss without a surge. Were burni for beacons; cities were consumed,
The waves were dead; the rides were in their grave, And ined were gatherd round their blazing homes The moon their mistress had expired before; To look once more into cach other's face :
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, Happy were those who dwelt within the cye
And the clouds perishd; darkness had do need
Of aid from them--she was the universe.
A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED.
I stoop beside the
of him who blazed. The flashes fell upou them : some lay down
The comet of a season, and I saw
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
With name no clearer than the names unknown, With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
Which lay unread around it; and I ask'd The pall of a past world; and then again
The gardener of that ground, why it might be With curses cast them down upon the dust,
That for this plant strangers his memory task d And goash'd their teeth and lowlil. The wild birds | Through the thick deaths of half a century; shriek'd,
And thus be answerd-« Well, I do not know
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so;
And I had not the digging of this grave. »
And is this all? I thought, -and do we rip
I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blighat? With blood, and each sate sullenly apart,
So soon and so successless? As I said, Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
The architect of all on which we tread, All carth was but one thought-and that was dealli, For earth is but a tombstone, did essay Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
To extricate remembrance from the clay, Of famine fed upon all eotrails. Men
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thought, Died, and their boues were tombless as their tiesla; Were it not that all life must end in one, The meagre by the meagre were devour'd.
Of which we are but dreamers ;-as he caught Even dogs assaila their masters, all save one,
As 't were the twilight of a former sun, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
Thus spoke lie, -«I believe the man of whom The birds and beasts and famnisliil men at bay,
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,
Wins a most famous writer in his day,
pay him honour,-and myself whate'er And a quick desolate cry, licking the land
Your hubour pleases .» Then most pleased I shook Which answerd not with a caress-- he died,
From out my pocket's avaricious nook The crowd was famishid by degrees; but two
Some certain coins of silver, which as I were Of an enormous city did survive,
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare And they were enemies; they met beside
So much but inconveniently. Ye smile, The dying embers of an altar-place
I see yo, yo profane ones! all the while,
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
And a firm will, and a deep sense,
Which even in torture can descry Its own concentred recompense,
Triumphant where it dares defy,
PROMETHEUS. Tiran! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despise ; What was thy pity's recompense! A silent suffering, and intense; The rock, the vulture, and the chain, All that the proud can feel of pain, The agony they do not show, The suffocating sense of woe,
Which speaks but in its loneliness, And then is jealous lest the sky Should have a listener, nor will sigh
Until its voice is echoless.
Titan! to thee the strife was given
Between the suffering and the will,
Which torture where they cannot kill ; And the inexorable heaven, And the deaf tyranny of fate, The ruling principle of hate, Which for its pleasure doth create The things it may annihilate, Refused thee even the boon to die : The wretched gift eternity
Was thine-and thou hast borne it well. All that the Thunderer wrung from thee Was but the menace which flung back On him the torments of thy rack; The fate thou didst so well foresee,
But would not to appease him tell : And in thy silence was his sentence, And in his soul a vain repentance, Aod evil dread, so ill dissembled That in his hand the lightnings trembled.
Oh shame to thy children and thee!
How wretched thy portion shall be!
A mockery that never shall die :
Shail burden the winds of thy sky;
The spirit that breathed in tby dead, When gallantry's star was the beacon before,
And honour the passion that led? Thy storms have awakend their sleep,
They groan from the place of their rest,
To see the foul stain on thy breast;
From Indus all round to the pole,
Sball brighten the sins of the soul. But thou art alone in thy shame,
The world cannot liken thee there ; Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thy name
Beyond the low reach of compare:
While yet in his prowess he stood,
And welcomed the torrent of blood:
And wither'd the nations afar, Yet bright in thy view was that despot's renown,
Till fortune deserted his car; Then back from the ehieftain thou slunkest away, The foremost to insult, the first to betray!
Thy godlike crime was to be kind,
To render with thy precepts less
The sum of human wretchedness,
In the endurance, and repulse
Which earth and heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit.
Thou art a symbol and a sign
Like thee, man is in part divine,
Forgot were the feats he had done,
The toils he had borne in thy cause ; Thou turned'st to worship a new rising sun,
And waft other songs of applause. But the storm was beginning to lower,
Adversity clouded his beam; And honour and faith were the brag of an hour,
And loyalty's self but a dream :To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows were restored, And the first that had scoffd were the first that adored.
What tumult thus burthens the air ?
What throng thus encircles his throne?
'T is the shout of delight, 't is the millions that swear | Next-for some gracious service unexprest, His sceptre shall rule them alone.
And from its wages only to be guessd-
Raised from the toilet to the table, where
Her wondering belters wait behind her chair:
She dines from off the plate she lately washd. That Frenchmen will breathe, when their hearts are Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie, on fire,
The genial confidante, and general spy;
An only infant's earliest governess!
She taught the child to read, and taught so well,
That she berself, by teaching, learn 'd to spell.
An adept next in penmanship she grows,
As many a nameless slander defuly slows:
What she had made the pupil of her arl,
None know-but that high soul secured the heart,
And panted for the truth it could not hear, And the millions that swore they would perish to save,
With longing breast and uodeluded ear. Beheld him a fugitive, captive, and slave!
Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind, The savage all wild in huis glen
Which flattery fool'd not, baseness could not blind,
Deceit infect not, near contagion soil,
Indulgence weaken, nor example spoil,
Nor master d science tempe her to look down
On humbler talents with a pitying frown,
Nor genius swell, nor beauty render vaiu,
Nor I'd tly to the uttermost ends of the earth,
envy ruffle to retaliate pain, And quit thee for over and ever ;
Nor fortune change, pride raise, nor passion bow, And thinking of thee in my long after years,
Nor virtue teach austerity- till now. Should but kindle my blushes and waken
Serenely purest of her sex that live. my tears.
But wanting one sweet weakness-to forgive;
Too shockd at faults her soul can never know,
She deems that all could be like her below:
Foe to all vice, yet hardly virtue's friend-
For virtue pardons those she would amend.
But to the theme-now laid aside too long,
The baleful burthen of this honest song
Though all hier former functions are no more,
She rules the circle which she served before.
If mothers—none know wlıy-before her quake,
If early habits—those false links which bind,
At times, the loftiest to the meanest mind-
Have given her power too deeply to instil seen standing betwixt the coffins of llenry VIII and Charles I, in the royal vault at Windsor.
If like a snake she steal within your walls.
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls ;
If like a viper to the heart she wind,
And leave the venom there she did not find;
What marvel that this hag of batred works
Eternal evil latent as she lurks,
To make a Pandemonium where she dwells,
And reign the Hecate of domestic hells!
Skilld by a touch to deepen scandal's tints,
1813. A thread of candour with a web of wiles ;
A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seemine,
To hide her bloodless heart's soul-hardend scheiding:
A lip of lies, a face form'd to conceal,
And, without feeling, mock at all who feel;
With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown,
A check of parchment, and an eye of stone.
Mark bow the channels of her yellow blood Promoted thence to deck hier mistress' head;
Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud,
Wer't the last drop in the well,
And I gasping on the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell,
'T is to thee that I would drink.
In that water, as this wine,
The libation I would pour Should be-Peace to thine and mine,
And a health to thee, Tom Moore !
« ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH
Cased like the centipede in saffron mail,
Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought,
March 30, 1816.
January 22, 1824, Missolonghi. 'T is time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move; Yet though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief,
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze
A funeral pile!
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 't is not thus, and 't is not here,
Such thoughts should shake my soul ; nor now Where glory decks the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.
CARMINA BYRONIS IN C. ELGIN. Aspice, quos Scoto Pallas concedit honores,
Subter stat nomen, facta superque vide. Scote miser! quamvis nocuisti Palladis ædi,
Infandum facinus vindicat ipsa Venus. Pygmalion statuam pro sponsa arsisse refertur;
In statuam rapias, Scote, sed uxor abest.
The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece around me see! The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.
Awake! (not Greece,- she is awake!)
Awake my, spirit!-think through whom Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home!
Tread all reviving passions down,
Unworthy manhood! Unto thee, Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.
LINES TO MR MOORE. (The following lines were addressed extempore by Lord Byron to his
friend Mr. Moore, on the latter's last visit to Italy.)
And my bark is on the sea ;
Here's a double health to thee.
And a smile to those who hate;
Here's a heart for every fate.
Yet it still shall bear me on;
It hath springs that may be won.
If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death Is here—up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out— less often sought than found
A soldier's grave-for thee the best ; Then look around, and chuse thy ground,
And take thy rest.