Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?
Sweet copy far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,
Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.
She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,
Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious that her image there
Held every sense in fast controul.
Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer—
My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;
In life's last conflict 'twill appear,
And meet my fond, expiring gaze.
station in life. Byron used to show a lock of her light golden hair, as well as her picture, among his friends. (See Life, p. 41, note.)]
ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX,1
THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN 66 THE MORNING POST."
"OUR Nation's foes lament on Fox's death,
But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath :
These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue,
We give the palm, where Justice points its due."
TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE
FOLLOWING REPLY. FOR INSERTION IN THE
MORNING CHRONICLE."
Он, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Would mangle, still, the dead, perverting truth;"
What, though our nation's foes" lament the fate,
With generous feeling, of the good and great;
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name
Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame ?
When PITT expir'd in plenitude of power,
Though ill success obscur❜d his dying hour,
i. The subjoined Reply.-[to]
ii. Would mangle, still, the dead, in spite of truth.—[4to]
iii. Shall, therefore, dastard tongues assail the name
Of him, whose virtues claim eternal fame ?—[4to]
I. [The stanza on the death of Fox appeared in the Morning Post, September 26, 1806.]
His friends in tears, a last sad requiem gave,
As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; i
He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight i
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state.
When, lo a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd,
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd:
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied,
With him, our fast reviving hopes have died;
Not one great people, only, raise his urn,
All Europe's far-extended regions mourn.
"These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue,
To give the palm where Justice points its due;" iv.
Yet, let not canker'd Calumny assail,".
Or round her statesman wind her gloomy veil.
Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep,
Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep;
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan,
While friends and foes, alike, his talents own.- vi.
i. And all his errors.—[4to]
ii. He died, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight
Of cares oppressing our unhappy state.
But lo! another Hercules appeared.-[4to]
iii. He too is dead who still our England propp'd
With him our fast reviving hopes have dropp'd.-[4to]
iv. And give the palm.—[4to]
v. But let not canker'd Calumny assail
And round.-[4to]
vi. And friends and foes.—[4to]
Fox! shall, in Britain's future annals, shine,
Nor e'en to PITT, the patriot's palm resign;
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask,
For PITT, and PITT alone, has dar'd to ask.1
[Southwell, Oct., 1806.]1
TO A LADY WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR
A LOCK OF HAIR BRAIDED WITH HIS OWN,
AND APPOINTED A NIGHT IN DECEMBER TO
MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN.2
THESE locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've prov'd it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov'd it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic ?
Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish ?
would dare to ask.—[4to]
1. [This MS. is preserved at Newstead.]
2. [These lines are addressed to the same Mary referred to in the lines beginning, "This faint resemblance of thy charms." (Vide ante, p. 32.)]
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen ;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar'd her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang'd the place of declaration.
In Italy, I've no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you :i
There, we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves,
i. Oh! let me in your chamber greet you.-[4to]
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