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Thus might the record now have been;

But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour, Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between, And blotted out the line for ever.

September, 1807. [First published, 1830.]


Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue
Bright as thy mother's in their hue;
Those rosy lips, whose dimples play
And smile to steal the heart away,
Recall a scene of former joy,
And touch thy father's heart, my Boy!


.And thou canst lisp a father's name — Ah, William, were thine own the same,— No self-reproach — but, let me cease — My care for thee shall purchase peace; Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy, And pardon all the past, my Boy!


Her lowly grave the turf has prest,
.And thou hast known a stranger's

Derision sneers upon thy birth,
And yields thee scarce a name on earth;
Vet shall not these one hope destroy, —
A Father's heart is thine, my Boy!


Why, let the world unfeeling frown:
Must I fond Nature's claims disown?
Ah, no — though moralists reprove,
1 hail thee, dearest child of Love,
Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy —
A Father guards thy birth, my Boy 1


Oh, 'twill be sweet in thee to trace,
Ere Age has wrinkled o'er my face,

1 fFor a reminiscence of what was, possibly, in Mlual event, see Don Juan, Canto XVI. st. ixi- Bjtoo told his wife that he had two natural children, whom he should provide for.]

Ere half my glass of life is run,
At once a brother and a son;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my Boy!


Although so young thy heedless sire,
Youth will not damp parental fire;
And, wert thou still less dear to me,
While Helen's form revives in thee,
The breast, which beat to former joy,
Will ne'er desert its pledge, mv Boy 1

[First published, 1830.]


The Moralists tell us that Loving is Sinning,

And always are prating about and about it,

But as Love of Existence itself's the beginning, Say, what would Existence itself be without it?

They argue the point with much furious Invective, Though perhaps 'twere no difficult task to confute it; But if Venus and Hymen should once prove defective, Pray who would there be to defend or dispute it? —Bykon.

[First published, 1808.]


Breeze of the night, in gentler sighs, More softly murmur o'er the billow;

For Slumber seals my Fanny's eyes, And Peace must never shun her pillow.


Or breathe those sweet /Eolian strains Stolen from celestial spheres above,

To charm her ear while some remains, And soothe her soul to dreams of love.

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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.


0 lady! blessed be that tear —
It falls for one who cannot weep;

Such precious drops are doubly dear To those whose eyes no tear may steep.


Sweet lady! once my heart was warm

With every feeling soft as thine; But Beauty's self hath ceas'd to charm

A wretch created to repine. 6.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?

Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Vrt if they grieve thee, say not so —
I would not give that bosom pain.

August 12, 1808.
[First published, 1809.]


Remind me not, remind me not,
Of those belov'd, those -vanish'd

When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,

Till Time unnerves our vital powers, And thou and I shall cease to be.


Can I forget — canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,
How quick thy fluttering heart did

Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast so fair,
And Hps, though silent, breathing


When thus reclining on my breast, Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,

As half reproach'd yet rais'd desire, And still we near and nearer prest, And still our glowing lips would meet, As if in kisses to expire.


And then those pensive eyes would close And bid their lids each other seek, Veiling the azure orbs below; While their long lashes' darken'd gloss Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,

Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.


I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could

In Rapture's wild reality.

Then tell me not, remind me not,

Of hours which, though for ever gone, Can still a pleasing dream restroe, Till thou and I shall be forgot,

And senseless, as the mouldering stone

Which tells that we shall be no more. August 13, 1808.

[First published, 1809.]


Few years have pass'd since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name,

And Childhood's gay sincerity

Preserv'd our feelings long the same.


But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall;

And those who once have lov'd the most Too soon forget they lov'd at all.


And such the change the heart displays, So frail is early friendship's reign,

A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, Will view thy mind estrang'd again.


If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart;

The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.


As rolls the Ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;

And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow?


It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy:

My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceas'd to be a boy.


And when we bid adieu to youth, Slaves to the specious World's controul,

We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That World corrupts the noblest soul.


Ah! joyous season 1 when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie;

When Thought ere spoke is unconfin'd,
And sparkles in the placid eye.


Not so in Man's maturer years,

When Man himself is but a tool; When Interest sways our hopes and fears,

And all must love and hate by rule. Io.

With fools in kindred vice the same, We learn at length our faults to blend;

And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend.


Such is the common lot of man:

Can we then 'scape from folly free?

Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be?

I 2.

No; for myself, so dark my fate

Through every turn of life hath been;

Man and the World so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.


But thou, with spirit frail and light,

Wilt shine awhile, and pass away; As glow-worms sparkle through the night,

But dare not stand the test of day.

Alas! whenever Folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halls

The welcome vices kindly greet,)


Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd;

And still thy trifling heart is glad

To join the vain and court the proud


There dost thou glide from fair to fair Still simpering on with eager haste.

As flics, .along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scared taste.


But say, what nymph will prise th


Which seems, as marshy vapour


To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?


What friend for thee, howe'er inclin'd Will deign to own a kindred care?

Who will debase his manly mind

For friendship every fool may share

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Quaff while thou canst: another race, When thou and thine, like me, are sped,

May rescue thee from Earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead.

'[Bjrron gave Medwin the following account d vm cap:—"The gardener in digging [diso*tred] a skull that had probably belonged to ■on* jojy friar or monk of the abbey, about the tea a was duwnonasteried. Observing it to .be <i giant sue, and in a perfect state of prcsffvUKA, a strange fancy seized me of having I Kt and mounted as a drinking-cup. I accordingly sent it to town, and it returned with t Ittj high poush. and of a mottled colour like ta"i'«sheil. — Mcdwin's Conwrstilions, i&?4.


Why not? since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808.
[First published, 1814.]


Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;

For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Thy husband's blest — and 'twill impart

Some pangs to view his happier lot: But let them pass — Oh! how my heart Would hate him if he lov'd thee not!

When late I saw thy favourite child, I thought my jealous heart would break;

But when the unconscious infant smil'd, I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

I kiss'd it, — and repress'd my sighs Its father in its face to see;

But then it had its mother's eyes, And they were all to love and me.

Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.

I deem'd that Time, I deem'd that Pride, Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;

Nor knew, till seated by thy side, My heart in all, — save hope, — the same.

1 [These lines were written after dining at Anncsley with Mr and Mrs Chawurth Musters.]

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