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No! for thou never canst be mine,
United by the priest's decree:
By any ties but those divine,

Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be.

6. Then let the secret fire consume,

Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom,

Rather than spread its guilty glow.

7.

I will not ease my tortur'd heart,

By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart,

Each thought presumptuous I resign.

8.

Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave
More than I here shall dare to tell;
Thy innocence and mine to save,
I bid thee now a last farewell.

9.

Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair, And hope no more thy soft embrace; Which to obtain, my soul would dare All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.

10.

At least from guilt shalt thou be free,

No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shalt thou be to love.

[First printed, January, 1807.]

STANZAS TO A LADY WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOËNS.

I.

THIS votive pledge of fond esteem,

Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou'lt prize; It sings of Love's enchanting dream, A theme we never can despise.

2.

Who blames it but the envious fool, The old and disappointed maid; Or pupil of the prudish school,

In single sorrow doom'd to fade?

3.

Then read, dear Girl! with feeling read,
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
To thee, in vain, I shall not plead
In pity for the Poet's woes.

4.

He was, in sooth, a genuine Bard;

His was no faint, fictitious flame: Like his, may Love be thy reward, But not thy hapless fate the same. [First printed, January, 1807.]

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Not to the aching frame alone confin'd, Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:

What grisly forms, the spectre-train of

woe,

Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow,

With Resignation wage relentless strife, While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life!

IO

Yet less the pang when, through the tedious hour,

Remembrance sheds around her genial

power,

Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given,

When Love was bliss, and Beauty form'd our heaven;

Or, dear to youth, pourtrays each childish scene,

Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.

As when, through clouds that pour the summer storm,

The orb of day unveils his distant form, Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain

20

And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain; Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams,

The Sun of Memory, glowing through my dreams, Though sunk the radiance of his former

blaze,

To scenes far distant points his paler

rays,

Still rules my senses with unbounded

sway,

The past confounding with the present day.

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,

Which still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought;

My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields,

And roams romantic o'er her air fields.

Scenes of my youth, develop'd, crowd view,

To which I long have bade a last adieu!

Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes;

Friends lost to me, for aye, except in dreams;

Some, who in marble prematurely sleep, Whose forms I now remember, but to weep;

Some, who yet urge the same scholastic

course

Of early science, future fame the source; Who, still contending in the studious race,

In quick rotation, fill the senior place! 40 These, with a thousand visions, now unite,

To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight.

IDA! blest spot, where Science holds her reign,

How joyous, once, I join'd thy youthful train!

Bright, in idea, gleams thy lofty spire, Again, I mingle with thy playful quire; Our tricks of mischief, every childish game,

Unchang'd by time or distance, seem the

same;

Through winding paths, along the glade I trace

The social smile of every welcome face; My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy or woe, 51 Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe, Our feuds dissolv'd, but not my friendship past,

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I bless the former, and forgive the last.

1[Newton Hanson relates that on one occasion he accompanied his father to Harrow on Speech Day to see his brother, Hargreaves Hanson, and Byron. "On our arrival at Harrow, we set out in search of Hargreaves and Byron, but the latter was not at his tutor's. Three or four lads, hearing my father's inquiries, set off at full speed to find him. They soon discovered him, and, laughing most heartily, called out, Hallo, Byron! here's a gentleman wants you.' And what do you think? He had got on Drury's hat. I can still remember the arch cock of Byron's eye at the hat, and then at my father, and the fun and merriment it caused him and all of us whilst, during the day, he was perambulating the highways and byeways of Ida with the hat on. 'Harrow Speech Day and the Governor's Hat' was one of the standing rallying-points for Lord Byron ever after."

Hours of my youth! when, nurtur'd in
my breast,

To Love a stranger, Friendship made
me blest,
Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of
youth,

When every artless bosom throbs with
truth;

Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign,

And check each impulse with prudential rein; бо When, all we feel, our honest souls disclose,

In love to friends, in open hate to foes;

No varnish'd tales the lips of youth repeat,

No dear-bought knowledge purchas'd
by deceit;

Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years,
Matur'd by age, the garb of Prudence

wears:

When, now, the Boy is ripen'd into Man, His careful Sire chalks forth some wary plan;

Instructs his Son from Candour's path to shrink,

Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to 70

think;

Still to assent, and never to deny -
A patron's praise can well reward the
lie:

And who, when Fortune's warning voice
is heard,

Would lose his opening prospects for a
word?
Although, against that word, his heart
rebel,

And Truth, indignant, all his bosom
swell.

Away with themes like this! not mine the task,

From flattering friends to tear the hateful mask;

Let keener bards delight in Satire's sting,

My Fancy soars not on Detraction's

wing: 80 Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly

blow,

To hurl Defiance on a secret Foe;

But when that foe, from feeling or from shame,

The cause unknown, yet still to me the

same,

Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance, retir'd,

With this submission all her rage expir'd.

From dreaded pangs that feeble Foe to

save,

She hush'd her young resentment, and forgave.

Or, if my Muse a Pedant's portrait drew,

POMPOSUS' virtues are but known to few: 90

I never fear'd the young usurper's nod, And he who wields must, sometimes, feel the rod.

If since on Granta's failings, known to all Who share the converse of a college hall,

1

She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain, 'Tis past, and thus she will not sin again;

Soon must her early song for ever cease, And, all may rail, when I shall rest in peace.

Here, first remember'd be the joyous band,

100

Who hail'd me chief, obedient to command; Who join'd with me, in every boyish sport,

Their first adviser, and their last resort;
Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant's
frown,

Or all the sable glories of his gown;
Who, thus, transplanted from his
father's school,

Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule
Succeeded him, whom all unite to praise,
The dear preceptor of my early days,

1[Dr Butler, then headmaster of Harrow.
Had Byron published another edition of these
poems, it was his intention to replace these four
lines by the four which follow:-
"If once my muse a harsher portrait drew,
Warm with her wrongs, and deem'd the likeness
true,

By cooler judgment taught, her fault she owns,
With noble minds a fault confess'd, atones."]

PROBUS,' the pride of science, and the
boast

To IDA now, alas! for ever lost! i10 With him, for years, we search'd the classic page,

And fear'd the Master, though we lov'd
the Sage:

Retir'd at last, his small yet peaceful seat
From learning's labour is the blest re-

―――――――

treat.

POMPOSUS fills his magisterial chair; POMPOSUS governs, but, my Muse, forbear:

Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot,

His name and precepts be alike forgot; No more his mention shall my verse degrade,

To him my tribute is already paid.2 120

High, through those elms with hoary branches crown'd,

Fair IDA's bower adorns the landscape round;

There Science, from her favour'd seat, surveys

The vale where rural Nature claims her praise;

To her awhile resigns her youthful train, Who move in joy, and dance along the plain;

1 Dr Drury. This most able and excellent man retired from his situation in March, 1805, after having resided thirty-five years at Harrow the last twenty as headmaster; an office he held with equal honour to himself, and advantage to the very extensive school over which he presided. Panegyric would here be superfluous; it would be useless to enumerate qualifications which were never doubted. A considerable contest took place between three rival candidates for his vacant chair: of this I can only

say→→→

Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota, Pelasgi! Non foret ambiguus tanti certaminis hæres. 2 This alludes to a character printed in a former private edition [Poems on Various Occasions] for the perusal of some friends, which, with many other pieces, is withheld from the present volume. To draw the attention of the public to insignificance would be deservedly rep robated; and another reason, though not of equal consequence, may be given in the follow ing couplet:

"Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel? Who breaks a Butterfly upon a wheel? -POPE, Prologue to the Satires. (See the lines "On a Change of Masters at Great Public School," p. 6.]

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