Thus has it been with Passion's fires,

As many a boy and girl remembers, While all the force of love expires,

Extinguish'd with the dying embers.

But now, dear LONG, 'tis midnight's noon, And clouds obscure the watery moon, Whose beauties I shall not rehearse, Describ'd in every stripling's verse; For why should I the path go o'er Which every bard has trod before? i Yet ere yon silver lamp of night

i.

Has thrice perform'd her stated round, Has thrice retrac'd her path of light,

And chas'd away the gloom profound,

I trust, that we, my gentle Friend,
Shall see her rolling orbit wend,

Above the dear-lov'd peaceful seat,

Which once contain'd our youth's retreat;

And, then, with those our childhood knew,
We'll mingle in the festive crew;
While many a tale of former day
Shall wing the laughing hours away;
And all the flow of souls shall pour
The sacred intellectual shower,

Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn,

Scarce glimmers through the mist of Morn.

i. And what's much worse than this I find
Have left their deepen'd tracks behind

Yet as yon

-[MS. Newstead.]

TO A LADY..

I.

OH! had my Fate been join'd with thine,1
As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.

2.

To thee, these early faults I owe,

To thee, the wise and old reproving :

They know my sins, but do not know

"Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.

3.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,

And all its rising fires could smother;

But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow'd by thee upon another.1

i. To -.—[Hours of Idleness. Poems O. and T.]

I. [These verses were addressed to Mrs. Chaworth Musters. Byron wrote in 1822, "Our meetings were stolen ones. A gate leading from Mr. Chaworth's grounds to those of my mother was the place of our interviews. The ardour was all on my side. I was serious; she was volatile: she liked me as a younger brother, and treated and laughed at me as a boy; she, however, gave me her picture, and that was something to make verses upon. Had I married her, perhaps, the whole tenour of my life would have been different."-Medwin's Conversations, 1824, p. 81.]

4.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,

For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.

5.

Ah! since thy angel form is gone,

My heart no more can rest with any ; But what it sought in thee alone,

Attempts, alas! to find in many.

6.

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;

Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
But Pride may teach me to forget thee.

7.

Yet all this giddy waste of years,

This tiresome round of palling pleasures;

These varied loves, these matrons' fears,

These thoughtless strains to Passion's measures

8.

If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd :-
This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd,

But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet.

9.

Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,

For Nature seem'd to smile before thee;
And once my Breast abhorr'd deceit,—

For then it beat but to adore thee.

IO.

But, now, I seek for other joys

To think, would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,

I

conquer half

my Bosom's sadness.

II.

Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
In spite of every vain endeavour;

And fiends might pity what I feel

To know that thou art lost for ever.

WHEN I ROVED A YOUNG HIGHLANDER..

I.

WHEN I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath, And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow!1

i. Song.-[Poems O. and T.]

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1. Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire. Gormal of snow" is an expression frequently to be found in Ossian.

To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,

Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below;1 Untutor❜d by science, a stranger to fear,

And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew, No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear;

1

Need I say, my sweet Mary,' 'twas centred in you?

2.

Yet it could not be Love, for I knew not the name,—
What passion can dwell in the heart of a child?
But, still, I perceive an emotion the same

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild :

1. This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been accustomed to the mountains. It is by no means uncommon, on attaining the top of Ben-e-vis, Ben-y-bourd, etc., to perceive, between the summit and the valley, clouds pouring down rain, and occasionally accompanied by lightning, while the spectator literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure from its effects.

2. [Byron, in early youth, was "unco' wastefu'" of Marys. There was his distant cousin, Mary Duff (afterwards Mrs. Robert Cockburn), who lived not far from the "Plain-Stanes" at Aberdeen. Her "brown, dark hair, and hazel eyes-her very dress," were long years after a perfect image" in his memory (Life, p. 9). Secondly, there was the Mary of these stanzas, "with long-flowing ringlets of gold," the Highland Mary" of local tradition. She was (writes the Rev. J. Michie, of The Manse, Dinnet) the daughter of James Robertson, of the farmhouse of Ballatrich on Deeside, where Byron used to spend his summer holidays (1796-98). She was of gentle birth, and through her mother, the daughter of Captain Macdonald of Rineton, traced her descent to the Lord of the Isles. She died at Aberdeen, March 2, 1867, aged eighty-five years." A third Mary (see "Lines to Mary," etc., p. 32) flits through the early poems, evanescent but unspiritual. Last of all, there was Mary Anne Chaworth, of Annesley (see "A Fragment," etc., p. 210; "The Adieu," st. 6, p. 239, etc.), whose marriage, in 1805, "threw him out again-alone on a wide, wide sea" (Life, p. 85).]

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