STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER. 417

Yet Tenderness and Time may rob the tear
Of half its bitterness for one so dear;
A Nation's gratitude perchance may spread
A thornless pillow for the widowed head;
May lighten well her heart's maternal care,
And wean from Penury the soldier's heir;
Or deem to living war-worn Valour just 1
Each wounded remnant-Albion's cherished trust-
Warm his decline with those endearing rays,
Whose bounteous sunshine yet may gild his days—
So shall that Country-while he sinks to rest-
His hand hath fought for-by his heart be blest!

1

May, 1814.

[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 559.]

ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.2

I.

THERE is a tear for all that die,3

A mourner o'er the humblest grave;

But nations swell the funeral cry,

And Triumph weeps above the brave.

1. [The last six lines are printed from the MS.]

2. [Sir P. Parker fell in August, 1814, in his twenty-ninth year, whilst leading a party from his ship, the Menelaus, at the storming of the American camp near Baltimore. He was Byron's first cousin (his father, Christopher Parker (1761-1804), married Charlotte Augusta, daughter of Admiral the Hon. John Byron); but they had never met since boyhood. (See letter to Moore, Letters, 1899, iii. 150; see too Letters, i. 6, note 1.) The stanzas were included in Hebrew Melodies, 1815, and in the Ninth Edition of Childe Harold, 1818.]

3. [Compare Tasso's sonnet

"Questa Tomba non è, che non è morto," etc.
Rime Eroiche, Parte Seconda, No. 38, Opere di
Torquato Tasso, Venice, 1736, vi. 169.]

VOL. III.

2 E

2.

For them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent :
In vain their bones unburied lie,

All earth becomes their monument !

3.

A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue :
The present hours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong.

4.

For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hushed, their name the only sound; While deep Remembrance pours to Worth The goblet's tributary round.

5.

A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Lamented by admiring foes,

Who would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?

6.

And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;

And early valour, glowing, find

A model in thy memory.

7.

But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;

And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.

8.

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherished name?
Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.

9.

Alas! for them, though not for thee,

They cannot choose but weep the more ;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,

Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

October 7, 1814.

[First published, Morning Chronicle, October 7, 1814.]

JULIAN [A FRAGMENT].1

I.

THE Night came on the Waters-all was rest
On Earth-but Rage on Ocean's troubled Heart.
The Waves arose and rolled beneath the blast;
The Sailors gazed upon their shivered Mast.
In that dark Hour a long loud gathered cry
From out the billows pierced the sable sky,
And borne o'er breakers reached the craggy shore-
The Sea roars on-that Cry is heard no more.

2.

There is no vestige, in the Dawning light,

Of those that shrieked thro' shadows of the Night.
The Bark-the Crew-the very Wreck is gone,
Marred-mutilated-traceless-all save one.

1. [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]

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.

3.

The naked Stranger rose, and wrung his hair,
And that first moment passed in silent prayer.
Alas! the sound--he sunk into Despair-

He was on Earth-but what was Earth to him,
Houseless and homeless-bare both breast and limb?
Cut off from all but Memory he curst

His fate-his folly-but himself the worst.

What was his hope? he looked upon the Wave—
Despite of all-it still may be his Grave!

4.

He rose and with a feeble effort shaped
His course unto the billows-late escaped:
But weakness conquered-swam his dizzy glance,
And down to Earth he sunk in silent trance.
How long his senses bore its chilling chain,
He knew not-but, recalled to Life again,
A stranger stood beside his shivering form-
And what was he? had he too scaped the storm?

5.

He raised young Julian. "Is thy Cup so full "Of bitterness-thy Hope-thy heart so dull

"That thou shouldst from Thee dash the Draught of Life, "So late escaped the elemental strife!

"Rise-tho' these shores few aids to Life supply,
"Look upon me, and know thou shalt not die.
"Thou gazest in mute wonder-more may

be

"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 soaring wing:
So Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide,
With honest Wonder what might next betide.

Dec. 12, 1814.

i.

TO BELSHAZZAR.

I.i.

BELSHAZZAR! from the banquet turn,
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;

I.

The red light glows, the wassail flows,
Around the royal hall;