ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,1 COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM. I. HUSH'D are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb, And scatter flowers on the dust I love. 1. The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of fourteen), and his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration.-[4to] ["My first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of a passion for my first cousin, Margaret Parker (daughter and granddaughter of the two Admirals Parker), one of the most beautiful of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten the verse; but it would be difficult for me to forget her-her dark eyes-her long eye-lashes-her completely Greek cast of face and figure! I was then about twelve-she rather older, perhaps a year. She died about a year or two afterwards, in consequence of a fall, which injured her spine, and induced consumption. I knew nothing of her illness, being at Harrow and in the country till she was gone. Some years after, I made an attempt at an elegy-a very dull one."-Byron Diary, 1821; Life, p. 17.] [Margaret Parker was the sister of Sir Peter Parker, whose death at Baltimore, in 1814, Byron celebrated in the "Élegiac Stanzas," which were first published in the poems attached to the seventh edition of Childe Harold.] 2. Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay, where once such animation beam'd; The King of Terrors seiz'd her as his prey; Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd. 3. Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate, Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the Muse her virtues would relate. 4. But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; And weeping angels lead her to those bowers, Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay. 5. And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign! Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain ;— 6. Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place.i i. Such sorrow brings me honour, not disgrace.-[4to] 1802. TO D1 I. In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. 2. True, she has forc'd thee from my breast, Yet, in my heart, thou keep'st thy seat; 3. And, when the grave restores her dead, On thy dear breast I'll lay my head— ii. Without thee! where would be my Heaven? February, 1803. i. But envy with malignant grasp, Has torn thee from my breast for ever.-[4to] ii. But in my heart.-[4to] 1. [George John, 5th Earl Delawarr (1791-1869). (See note 2, p. 100; see also lines "To George, Earl Delawarr," pp. 126-128.)] TO CAROLINE. 1. THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, 2. Though keen the grief thy tears exprest," When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own. 3. But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine. 4. Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breath'd my name. 5. And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; But that, will make us weep the more. 6. Again, thou best belov'd, adieu ! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Our only hope is, to forget! TO CAROLINE.1 1805. I. You say you love, and yet your eye 2. Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee. 1. [These lines, which appear in the Quarto, were never republished.] |