12.

By Heaven! I rather would forswear

The Earth, and all the joys reserved me,

Than dare again the specious Snare,

From which my Fate and Heaven preserved me.

13.

Still I possess some Friends who love me-
In each a much esteemed and true one;
The Wealth of Worlds shall never move me
To quit their Friendship, for a new one.

14.

But Becher! you're a reverend pastor,
Now take it in consideration,
Whether for penance I should fast, or

Pray for my sins in expiation.

15.

I own myself the child of Folly,

But not so wicked as they make me

I soon must die of melancholy,

If Female smiles should e'er forsake me.

16.

Philosophers have never doubted,

That Ladies' Lips were made for kisses! For Love! I could not live without it,

For such a cursed place as This is.

17.

Say, Becher, I shall be forgiven!

If you don't warrant my salvation,

I must resign all Hopes of Heaven!

For, Faith, I can't withstand Temptation.

P.S.-These were written between one and two, after midnight. I have not corrected, or revised.

TO ANNE.1

Yours, BYRON.

I.

Oн say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
The heart which adores you should wish to dissever;
Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed,—
To bear me from Love and from Beauty for ever.

2.

Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone
Could bid me from fond admiration refrain ;
By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown,
Till smiles should restore me to rapture again.

3.

As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwin'd,

The

rage of the tempest united must weather; My love and my life were by nature design'd To flourish alike, or to perish together.

I [Miss Anne Houson.]

4.

Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu :
Till Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed,
His Soul, his Existence, are centred in you.

1807. [First published, 1832.]

TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET

BEGINNING "SAD IS MY VERSE,' YOU SAY, 'AND YET NO TEAR.'

I.

THY verse is "sad" enough, no doubt:
A devilish deal more sad than witty!
Why we should weep I can't find out,
Unless for thee we weep in pity.

2.

Yet there is one I pity more;

And much, alas! I think he needs it:

For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore,

Who, to his own misfortune, reads it.

3.

Thy rhymes, without the aid of magic,

May once be read-but never after :
Yet their effect's by no means tragic,
Although by far too dull for laughter.

4.

But would you make our bosoms bleed,
And of no common pang complain-
If you would make us weep indeed,
Tell us, you'll read them o'er again.

March 8, 1807. [First published, 1832.]

ON FINDING A FAN.1

I.

IN one who felt as once he felt,

This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame;

But now his heart no more will melt,

Because that heart is not the same.

2.

As when the ebbing flames are low,
The aid which once improved their light,

And bade them burn with fiercer glow,

Now quenches all their blaze in night.

3.

Thus has it been with Passion's fires-
As many a boy and girl remembers—
While every hope of love expires,
Extinguish'd with the dying embers.

1. [Of Miss A. H.-MS, Newstead.]

4.

The first, though not a spark survive,

Some careful hand may teach to burn;

The last, alas! can ne'er survive ;

No touch can bid its warmth return.

5.

Or, if it chance to wake again,

Not always doom'd its heat to smother,

It sheds (so wayward fates ordain)

Its former warmth around another.

1807. [First published, 1832.]

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.1

I.

THOU Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days, Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis time we should part;

Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays,

The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.

2.

This bosom, responsive to rapture no more,

Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing; The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar, Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing.

i. Adieu to the Muse.-[MS. Newstead.]