PROMETHEUS. TITAN! to whose immortal eyes Were not as things that gods despise ; 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 Was thine-and thou hast borne it well. Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, To render with thy precepts less In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable Spirit, Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit: Thon art a symbol and a sign To Mortals of their fate and force; Like thee, Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source; And Man in portions can foresee 's own funereal destiny; His wretchedness, and his resistance, To which his Spirit may oppose Its own concentred recompense, Sead of any consolatory or monitory text, this Epicurean line from one of his own poems 'Life to the last enjoy'd, here Churchill lies.'" Southey's Cowper, vol. ii. p. 159.] A FRAGMENT. COULD I remount the river of my years To the first fountain of our smiles and tears, What is this Death?-a quiet of the heart? The absent are the dead-for they are cold, The under-earth inhabitants-are they Or have they their own language? and a senso As midnight in her solitude?-Oh Earth! Where are the past ?-and wherefore had they birth? Diodati, July, 1816. SONNET TO LAKE LEMAN. But they have made them lovelier, for the lore 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, The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal, Which of the heirs of immortality Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real! Diodati, July, 1816. 1 Geneva, Ferney, Copet, Lausanne.-[See antè, p. 45."I have traversed all Rousseau's ground with the Heloise before me, and am struck to a degree that I cannot express, with the force and accuracy of his descriptions, and the beauty of their reality."-Byron Letters, 1816.] ROMANCE MUY DOLOROSO El qual dezia en Aravigo assi. Ay de mi, Alhama! Cartas le fueron venidas Descavalga de una mula, Como en el Alhambra estuvo, Y que atambores de guerra Los Moros que el son oyeron, Alli hablò un Moro viejo; Ay de mi, Alhama! Aveys de saber, amigos, Que Christianos, con braveza, Alli hablò un viejo Alfaqui, Mataste los Bencerrages, De Cordova la nombrada. Por esso mereces, Rey, Out then spake an aged Moor "Friends! ye have, alas! to know Out then spake old Alfaqui, Perdieran hijos padres, Las cosas que mas amara Perdi una hija donzella Diziendo assi al hacen Alfaqui, Hombres, niños y mugeres, Por las calles y ventanas And as these things the old Moor said, And men and infants therein weep And from the windows o'er the walls SONETTO DI VITTORELLI. PER MONACA. Sonetto composto in nome di un genitore, a cui era morta poco innanzi una figlia appena maritata; e diretto al genitore della sacra sposa. Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte A le fumanti tede d' imeneo: Irremeabil soglia, ove s' asconde, Corro a quel marmo, in cui la figlia or posa, TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI. ON A NUN. Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughter Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, STANZAS FOR MUSIC. BRIGHT be the place of thy soul! In the orbs of the blessed to shine. When we know that thy God is with thee. Light be the turf of thy tomb! May its verdure like emeralds be! There should not be the shadow of gloom, In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see; For why should we mourn for the bless'd? TO THOMAS MOORE. My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here's a double health to thee! Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And, whatever sky 's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. Though the ocean roar around me, 'Tis to thee that I would drink. "Are you not near the Luddites? By the Lord! if there's a row, but I'll be among ye! How go on the weav ers-the breakers of frames-the Lutherans of politics-the reformers?..... There's an amiable chanson for you!-all mpromptu. I have written it principally to shock your eighbor, who is all clergy and loyalty-mirth and infocence-milk and water."-Lord Byron to Mr. Moore, Dec. 94,1816.] And there are songs and quavers, roaring, humming, Guitars, and every other sort of strumming."-Beppo. See ante, p. 155.] "I went to most of the ridottos, &c., and though I did dissipate much upon the whole, yet I found the sword Reanng out the scabbard, though I have but just turned The corner of twenty-nine."-Lord Byron to Mr. Moore, Feb. 1817.) "I have been ill with a slow fever, which at last took to fying, and became as quick as need be. But, at length, af TO MR. MURRAY. March, 1817. To hook the reader, you, John Murray, Have publish'd" Anjou's Margaret," Which won't be sold off in a hurry, (At least, it has not been as yet ;) And then, still further to bewilder 'em, Without remorse you set up "Ilderim ;” So mind you don't get into debt, Because as how, if you should fail, These books would be but baddish bail. And mind you do not let escape These rhymes to Morning Post or Perry, And get me into such a scrape! For, firstly, I should have to sally, All in my little boat, against a Galley; And, should I chance to slay the Assyrian wight, Have next to combat with the female knight. March 25, 1817. EPISTLE FROM MR. MURRAY TO DEAR Doctor, I have read your play, [The Missionary" was written by Mr. Bowles; "Ilderim" by Mr. Gally Knight, and "Margaret of Anjou" by Miss Holford.} 6 [For some particulars relating to Dr. Polidori see Moore's "Notices." "I never," says Lord Byron," was much more disgusted with any human production than with the eternal nonsense, and tracasseries, and emptiness, and ill-humor, and vanity of this young person; but he has some talent, and is a man of honor, and has dispositions of amendment. Therefore use your interest for him, for he is improved and improveable. You want a civil and delicate declension' for the medical tragedy? Take it."-Lord Byron to Mr. Murray, Aug. 21, 1817.] |