Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! Or break the heart to which thou'rt press'd! Time tempers love, but not removes, More hallow'd when its hope is fled: Oh! what are thousand living loves To that which cannot quit the dead? EUTHANASIA.(1) WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring Wave gently o'er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be there, To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to earth, With no officious mourners near: In her who lives and him who dies. 'T were sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan; For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, Where all have gone, and all must go! Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, There is an eye which could not brook I will not ask where thou liest low, There flowers or weeds at will may grow, It is enough for me to prove Like common earth can rot; Yet did I love thee to the last The love where Death has set his seal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see The better days of life were ours; That all those charms have pass'd away; The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Than see it pluck'd to-day; Had worn a deeper shade: Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept, if I could weep, Uphold thy drooping head; Yet how much less it were to gain, to quote the adviser himself, "had not resolution enough persist in suppressing" the verses, which have accordingly been published in subsequent editions.-P. E IF sometimes in the haunts of men The semblance of thy gentle shade: Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before. Oh, pardon that in crowds a while I waste one thought I owe to thee, That then I seem not to repine; I would not fools should overhear One sigh that should be wholly thine. If not the goblet pass unquaff'd, It is not drain'd to banish care; The cup must hold a deadlier draught, That brings a Lethe for despair. And could Oblivion set my soul From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl That drown'd a single thought of thee. For wert thou vanish'd from my mind, Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind To honour thine abandon'd urn? No, no-it is my sorrow's pride That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside, 'Tis meet that I remember still. For well I know, that such had been Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmouru'd shall quit this mortal scene, Where none regarded him, but thou: And, oh! I feel in that was given A blessing never meant for me; Thou wert too like a dream of heaven, For earthly Love to merit thee. March 14, 1812. (1) We know not whether the reader should understand the cornelian heart of these lines to be the same with that of which some notices are given, antè, p. 23.-P. E. (2) This impromptu owed its birth to an on dit, that the late Princess Charlotte of Wales burst into tears on hearing that the Whigs had found it impossible to put together a cabinet, at the period of Mr. Perceval's death. They were appended to the first edition of the Corsair, and excited a sensation, as it is called, marvellously disproportionate to their length,-or, we may add, their merit. The ministerial prints raved for two months on end, in the most foul-mouthed vituperation of the poet, and all that belonged to him- the Morning Post even announced a motion in the House of Lords-" and all this," Lord Byron writes to Mr. Moore, "as Bedreddin in the Arabian Nights remarks, for making a THE chain I gave was fair to view, But not to bear a stranger's touch; Restring the chords, renew the clasp. When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; The chain is broke, the music mute. "Tis past-to them and thee adieu— False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. cream tart with pepper: how odd, that eight lines should have given birth, I really think, to eight thousand!"-L. E. "The 'Lines to a Lady weeping' must go with the Corsair. I care nothing for consequences on this point. My politics are to me like a young mistress to an old man; the worse Lord B. to Mr. they grow, the fonder I become of them." "On my return, I find all the Murray, Jan, 22, 1814. newspapers in hysterics, and town in an uproar, on the avowal and republication of two stanzas on Princess Charlotte's weeping at Regency's speech to Lauderdale in I×12. They are daily at it still:-some of the abuse good,- all of it hearty. They talk of a motion in our House upon itbe it so." Byron's Diary, 1814.-P. E. (3) In a letter to Mr. Moore, Lord Byron designates this couplet as a "literal translation."-P. E. Know the same favour which the former knew, LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF A shrine for Shakspeare-worthy him and you? THE "PLEASURES OF MEMORY." ABSENT or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belong! As all can tell, who share, like me, In turn thy converse, (1) and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall come By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh, And Memory o'er her Druid's tomb (2) Shall weep that aught of thee can die, How fondly will she then repay Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, And blend, while ages roll away, Her name immortally with thine! ADDRESS, April 19, 1812. SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Ye who beheld (oh! sight admired and mourn'd, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!) Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven, Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven; Saw the long column of revolving flames Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,(4) (I)" When Rogers does talk, he talks well; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure as his poetry. If you enter his house-his drawing-room-his library-you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor." 1813.-L. E. B. Diary, (2) The reader will recall Collins's exquisite lines on the tomb of Thomson: "In yonder grave a Druid lies," etc.L. E. (3) The theatre in Drury Lane, which was opened, in 1747, with Dr. Johnson's masterly address, beginning, "When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the Stage, immortal Shakspeare rose," and witnessed the last glories of Garrick, having fallen into decay, was rebuilt in 1794. The new building perished by fire in 1811; and the managers, in their anxiety that the opening of the present edifice should be distinguished by some composition of at least equal merit, advertised in the newspapers for a general competition. Scores of addresses, not one tolerable, showered on their desk, and they were in sad despair, when Lord Holland interfered, and, not without difficulty, prevailed on Lord Byron to write these verses"at the risk," as he said, "of offending a hundred scribblers and a discerning public." The admirable jeu d'esprit of the Messrs. Smith will long preserve the memory of the Rejected Addresses.-L. E. (4) "By the by, the best view of the said fire (which I myself saw from a house-top in Covent Garden) was at Yes it shall be-the magic of that name Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, And bids the Drama be where she hath been: This fabric's birth attests the potent spellIndulge our honest pride, and say, How well! As soars this fane to emulate the last, Oh! might we draw our omens from the past, Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art O'erwhelm'd the gentlest, storm'd the sternest heart. On Drury Garrick's latest laurels grew; Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew, Sigh'd his last thanks, and wept his last adien: But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom That only waste their odours o'er the tomb. Such Drury claim'd and claims-nor you refuse One tribute to revive his slumbering Muse; With garlands deck your own Menander's head, Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead! Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley (6) ceased to write.(7) Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs, Vain of our ancestry as they of theirs; While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line, Reflect how hard the task to rival them! Pause-ere their feebler offspring you condemn, Friends of the stage! to whom both players and plays Must sue alike for pardon or for praise; Whose judging voice and eye alone direct The boundless power to cherish or reject; If e'er frivolity has led to fame, And made us blush that you forbore to blame; Westminster Bridge, from the reflection of the Thames." B. to Lord H.-L. E. (5) Originally, "As glared each rising flash."-P. E. (6) Originally, "Ere Garrick died," etc.-"By the by, one of my corrections in the copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write.' Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first. Second thoughts in every thing are best; but, in rhyme, third and fourth don't come amiss. I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as fast as I can, but never sufficiently; and, latterly, I can weave a nine-line stanza | faster than a couplet, for which measure I have not the cunning. When I began Childe Harold, I had never tried Spenser's measure, and now I cannot scribble in any other. B. to Lord H.-L. E. (7) Previously to the correction alluded to in the preceding note, the couplet stood thus: "Such are the names that here your plaudits songht, To these lines on Sheridan, Byron had proposed to add the following: If e'er the sinking Stage could condescend Still may we please-long, long may you preside! (2) PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS (3) BY DR. PLAGIARY, Half stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by Master B. at the opening of the next new theatre. Stolen parts marked with the inverted com. mas of quotation-thus "”. "WHEN energising objects men pursue," Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who. As if Sir Fretful wrote "the slumberous" verse, "Dread metaphors, which open wounds" like issues! (1) The following lines were omitted by the Committee:- That late she deign'd to crawl upon all-fours. Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute." "Is Whitbread," said Lord Byron, "determined to castrate all my cavalry lines? I do implore, for my own gratification, one lash on those accursed quadrupeds-a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me.'"-L. E. (2) "Soon after the Rejected Addresses scene in 1812, I met Sheridan. In the course of dinner, he said, 'Lord By "O British poesy, whose powers inspire" These, if we win the Graces, too, we gain "Three who have stolen their witching airs from (You all know what I mean, unless you're stupid): pride;" our mounting But lo!-the papers print what you deride. VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE AT WHEN Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought," (5) Did modern swains, possess'd of Cymon's powers, ron, did you know that amongst the writers of addresses (3) Among the addresses sent in to the Drury Lane Committee, was one by Dr. Busby, entitled "A Monologue," of which the above is a parody. It began as follows: "When energising objects men pursue, What are the prodigies they cannot do? A magic edifice you here survey, Shot from the ruins of the other day!", etc.-L. E. (4) In Warwickshire.--L. E. (5) See Cymon and Iphigenia.-L. E. VERSES.(1) REMEMBER thee! remember thee! Till Lethe quench life's burning stream Remorse and shame shall cling to thee, And haunt thee like a feverish dream! Remember thee! Ay, doubt it not. Thy husband too shall think of thee: By neither shalt thou be forgot, Thou false to him, thou fiend to me! ON LORD ELGIN.(2) NOSELESS himself, he brings home noseless blocks, To show at once the ravages of time and pox. TO TIME. TIME! on whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly, Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, But drag or drive us on to die Hail thou! who on my birth bestow'd Those boons to all that know thee known; Yet better I sustain thy load, For now I bear the weight alone. I would not one fond heart should share To them be joy or rest, on me Thy future ills shall press in vain; Yet even that pain was some relief; It felt, but still forgot, thy power: Retards, but never counts the hour. But could not add a night to woe; For then, however drear and dark, That beam hath sunk, and now thou art Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, (I) "The sequel of a temporary liaison, formed by Lord Byron during his gay but brief career in London, occasioned the composition of this Impromptu. On the cessation of the connection, the fair one, actuated by jealousy, called one morning at her quondam lover's apartments. His Lord TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE-SONG. AR! Love was never yet without The pang, the agony, the doubt Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, Without one friend to hear my woe, I faint, I die beneath the blow. Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. A bird of free and careless wing Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine; My light of life! ah, tell me why Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow: My curdling blood, my maddening brain, Pour me the poison; fear not thou! My wounded soul, my bleeding breast, STANZAS. THOU art not false, but thou art fickle, ship was from home; but finding Vathek on the table, the lady wrote in the first page of the volume the words “Remember me!' Byron immediately wrote under the ominst warning these two stanzas." Medwin.-P. E. (2) See Curse of Minerva, p. 187.-P.E. |