In him there still is Life, the Wave that dashed On shore the plank to which his form was lashed, Returned unheeding of its helpless Prey The lone survivor of that Yesterday The one of Many whom the withering Gale Hath left unpunished to record their Tale. But who shall hear it? on that barren Sand None comes to stretch the hospitable hand. That shore reveals no print of human foot, Nor e'en the pawing of the wilder Brute; And niggard vegetation will not smile, All sunless on that solitary Isle. And down to Earth he sunk in silent trance. How long his senses bore its chilling chain, He knew not but, recalled to Life "Thy marvel when thou knowest mine and me. "But come The bark that bears us hence shall find "Her Haven, soon, despite the warning Wind." 6. He raised young Julian from the sand, and such Strange power of healing dwelt within the touch, That his weak limbs grew light with freshened Power, As he had slept not fainted in that hour, And woke from Slumber as the Birds awake, Recalled at morning from the branchéd brake, When the day's promise heralds early Spring, And Heaven unfolded woos their soar ing wing: So Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide, With honest Wonder what might next betide. Dec. 12, 1814. [First published, 1900.] TO BELSHAZZAR. I. BELSHAZZAR! from the banquet turn, Nor in thy sensual fulness fall; Behold! while yet before thee burn The graven words, the glowing wall: Many a despot men miscall Crowned and anointed from on high; But thou, the weakest, worst of allIs it not written, thou must die? 2. Go! dash the roses from thy browGrey hairs but poorly wreathe with them; Youth's garlands misbecome thee now, More than thy very diadem, Where thou hast tarnished every gem:Then throw the worthless bauble by, Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn; And learn like better men to die! 3. Oh! early in the balance weighed, And ever light of word and worth, Whose soul expired ere youth decayed, And left thee but a mass of earth. To see thee moves the scorner's mirth: But tears in Hope's averted eye Lament that even thou hadst birth Unfit to govern, live, or die. February 12, 1815. [First published, 1831.] STANZAS FOR MUSIC.1 "O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater Felix! in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha sensit." -GRAY'S Poemata. [Motto to "The Tear."] I. THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay; [Byron gave these verses to Moore for Mr Power of the Strand, who published them, with music by Sir John Stevenson. "I feel merry Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene; As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So, 'midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me. March, 1815. [First published, Poems, 1816.] enough," he wrote. March 2, "to send you a sad song. And again, March 8, 1815, "An event the death of poor Dorset - and the recollection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands."] ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET.1 I. I HEARD thy fate without a tear, I know not what hath seared my eye - 2. Yes, dull and heavy, one by one, [First published, Works, Paris, 1826, p. 716.] STANZAS FOR MUSIC. I. BRIGHT be the place of thy soul In the orbs of the blessed to shine. 2. 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: [From an autograph of MS. in the possession of Mr Murray. The MS. is headed, in pencil, "Lines written on the Death of the Duke of Dorset, a College Friend of Lord Byron's, who was killed by a fall from his horse while hunting."] Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice! July 25, 1815. London. [First published, Examiner, July 30, 1815.] FROM THE FRENCH.1 I. MUST thou go, my glorious Chief, Maddening o'er that long adieu? Woman's love, and Friendship's zeal, Dear as both have been to me What are they to all I feel, With a soldier's faith for thee? II. Idol of the soldier's soul! First in fight, but mightiest now: Many could a world control; Thee alone no doom can bow. By thy side for years I dared Death; and envied those who fell, When their dying shout was heard, Blessing him they served so well.2 III. Would that I were cold with those, *["All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted." Private Letter from Brussels.] ["At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a cannon-ball, to wrench it off with the other, and, throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades, 'Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort!' There were many other instances of the like: this you may, however, depend on as true." Private Leller from Brussels.] [Charles Angélique François Huchet, Comte de La Bédoyère, born 1786, was in the retreat from Moscow, and, in 1813, distinguished himself at the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen. On the return of Napoleon from Elba he was the first to bring him a regiment. He was raised to the peerage, but being found in Paris by the Allied army, he was tried by a court-martial, and suffered death August 15, 1815.] [Michel Ney. (Compare Don Juan, Canto IX. stanza i. line 8.)] |