1.
Harriet! to see such Circumspection, [2]
In Ladies I have no objection
Concerning what they read;
An ancient Maid’s a sage adviser,
Like her, you will be much the
wiser,
In word, as well as Deed.
2.
But Harriet, I don’t wish to flatter,
And really think ’t would make the
matter
More perfect if not quite,
If other Ladies when they preach,
Would certain Damsels also teach
More cautiously to write.
[Footnote 1: From an autograph
MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]
[Footnote 2: See the poem “To
Marion,” and ‘note’, p. 129.
It would seem that J. T. Becher addressed some flattering
lines to Byron with reference to a poem concerning
Harriet Maltby, possibly the lines “To Marion.”
The following note was attached by Miss Pigot to these
stanzas, which must have been written on another occasion:—
“I saw Lord B. was flattered
by John Becher’s lines, as he read
‘Apollo’, etc., with
a peculiar smile and emphasis; so out of fun,
to vex him a little, I said,
‘Apollo! He should
have said Apollyon.’
’Elizabeth! for Heaven’s sake
don’t say so again! I don’t
mind you telling me so; but if
any one else got hold of the
word, I should never hear the end
of it.’
So I laughed at him, and dropt it, for
he was red with agitation.”]
THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME. i
1.
There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne’er
forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been
to thee.
2.
And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess’d a love which
equall’d mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown, and thus unfelt,
by thine,
3.
None, none hath sunk so deep as this—
To think how all that love
hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
But transient in thy breast
alone.
4.
And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips
declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that
were.
5.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love
again,
To me ’tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.
6.
Yes! ’tis a glorious thought to
me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate’er thou art or e’er
shall be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely
mine.
June 10, 1808. [First published, 1809]
[Footnote 1: This copy of verses,
with eight others, originally appeared in a volume
published in 1809 by J. C. Hobhouse, under the title
of Imitations and Translations, From the Ancient
and Modern Classics, Together with Original Poems
never before published. The MS. is in the
possession of the Earl of Lovelace.]
[Footnote i:
Stanzas to the Same.
[Imit. and Transl., p. 200.]]
[Footnote ii:
The memory of that love again.
[MS. L.]]
AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? [i]
1.
And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words
again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so—
I would not give that bosom
pain.
2.
My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through
my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of
rest.
3.
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish
shine:
And for a while my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt
for mine.
4.
Oh lady! blessèd be that tear—
It falls for one who cannot
weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear [ii]
To those whose eyes no tear
may steep.
5.
Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as
thine;
But Beauty’s self hath ceased to
charm
A wretch created to repine.
6. [iii]
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so—
I would not give that bosom pain. [1]
Aug. 12, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote 1: It was in one of
Byron’s fits of melancholy that the following
verses were addressed to him by his friend John Cam
Hobhouse:—
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE.
Hail! generous youth, whom glory’s
sacred flame
Inspires, and animates to deeds of fame;
Who feel the noble wish before you die
To raise the finger of each passer-by:
Hail! may a future age admiring view
A Falkland or a Clarendon in you.
But as your blood with dangerous passion boils,
Beware! and fly from Venus’ silken toils:
Ah! let the head protect the weaker heart,
And Wisdom’s Ægis turn on Beauty’s dart.
* * * *
But if ’tis fix’d that every lord must
pair,
And you and Newstead must not want an heir,
Lose not your pains, and scour the country round,
To find a treasure that can ne’er be found!
No! take the first the town or court affords,
Trick’d out to stock a market for the lords;
By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall
On one, though wicked, not the worst of all:
* * *
*
One though perhaps as any Maxwell free,
Yet scarce a copy, Claribel, of thee;
Not very ugly, and not very old,
A little pert indeed, but not a scold;
One that, in short, may help to lead a life
Not farther much from comfort than from strife;
And when she dies, and disappoints your fears,
Shall leave some joys for your declining years.
But, as your early youth some time allows,
Nor custom yet demands you for a spouse,
Some hours of freedom may remain as yet,
For one who laughs alike at love and debt:
Then, why in haste? put off the evil day,
And snatch at youthful comforts while you may!
Pause! nor so soon the various bliss forego
That single souls, and such alone, can know:
Ah! why too early careless life resign,
Your morning slumber, and your evening wine;
Your loved companion, and his easy talk;
Your Muse, invoked in every peaceful walk?
What! can no more your scenes paternal please,
Scenes sacred long to wise, unmated ease?
The prospect lengthen’d o’er the distant
down,
Lakes, meadows, rising woods, and all your own?
What! shall your Newstead, shall your cloister’d
bowers,
The high o’erhanging arch and trembling towers!
Shall these, profaned with folly or with strife,
An ever fond, or ever angry wife!
Shall these no more confess a manly sway,
But changeful woman’s changing whims obey?
Who may, perhaps, as varying humour calls,
Contract your cloisters and o’erthrow your walls;
Let Repton loose o’er all the ancient ground,
Change round to square, and square convert to round;
Root up the elms’ and yews’ too solemn
gloom,
And fill with shrubberies gay and green their room;
Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre,
Where gravel’d walks and flowers alternate glare;
And quite transform, in every point complete,
Your Gothic abbey to a country seat.
Forget the fair one, and your fate delay;
If not avert, at least defer the day,
When you beneath the female yoke shall bend,
And lose your wit, your temper, and
your friend. [A]
Trin. Coll. Camb.,
1808.]
[Sub-Footnote A: In his mother’s
copy of Hobhouse’s volume, Byron has written
with a pencil,
“I have lost them all, and shall
WED accordingly. 1811. B.”]
[Footnote i:
Stanzas.
[MS. L.]
To the Same.
[Imit. and Transl., p 202.]]
[Footnote ii:
For one whose life is torment here,
And only in the dust may sleep.
[MS. L.]]
[Footnote iii: The MS. inserts—
Lady I will not tell my tale
For it would rend thy melting heart;
’Twere pity sorrow should prevail
O’er one so gentle as thou art.
[MS. L.]]
REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT. [i]
1.
Remind me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish’d
hours,
When all my soul
was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till Time unnerves our vital
powers,
And thou and I
shall cease to be.
2.
Can I forget—canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden
hair,
How quick thy
fluttering heart did move?
Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast
so fair,
And lips, though
silent, breathing love.
3.
When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so
sweet,
As half reproach’d
yet rais’d desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips
would meet,
As if in kisses to expire.
4.
And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other
seek,
Veiling the azure
orbs below;
While their long lashes’ darken’d
gloss
Seem’d stealing o’er
thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven’s
plumage smooth’d on snow.
5.
I dreamt last night our love return’d,
And, sooth to say, that very
dream
Was sweeter in
its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn’d,
For eyes that ne’er
like thine could beam
In Rapture’s
wild reality.
6.
Then tell me not, remind me not, [ii]
Of hours which, though for
ever gone,
Can still a pleasing
dream restore, [iii]
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless, as the mouldering
stone
Which tells that
we shall be no more.
Aug. 13, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote i:
A Love Song. To——.
[Imit. and Transl., p. 197.]
[Footnote ii:
Remind me not, remind me not.
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote iii:
Must still.
[MS. L.] ]
TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. [i]
1.
Few years have pass’d since thou
and I
Were firmest friends, at least
in name,
And Childhood’s gay sincerity
Preserved our feelings long
the same. [ii]
2.
But now, like me, too well thou know’st
What trifles oft the heart
recall;
And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they lov’d
at all. [iv]
3.
And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship’s
reign, [v]
A month’s brief lapse, perhaps a
day’s,
Will view thy mind estrang’d
again. [vi]
4.
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such
a heart;
The fault was Nature’s fault, not
thine,
Which made thee fickle as
thou art.
5.
As rolls the Ocean’s changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and
flow;
And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever
glow?
6.
It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days
of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceas’d
to be a boy.
7.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious World’s
controul,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That World corrupts the noblest
soul.
8.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind [1]
Dares all things boldly but
to lie;
When Thought ere spoke is unconfin’d,
And sparkles in the placid
eye.
9.
Not so in Man’s maturer years,
When Man himself is but a
tool;
When Interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all must love and hate
by rule.
10.
With fools in kindred vice the same, [vii]
We learn at length our faults
to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.
11.
Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then ’scape from
folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must
be?
12.
No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life
hath been;
Man and the World so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the
scene.
13.
But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass
away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test
of day.
14.
Alas! whenever Folly calls
Where parasites and princes
meet,
(For cherish’d first in royal halls,
The welcome vices kindly greet,)
15.
Ev’n now thou’rt nightly seen
to add
One insect to the fluttering
crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad
To join the vain and court
the proud.
16.
There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager
haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,
That taint the flowers they
scarcely taste.
17.
But say, what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours
move,
To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?
18.
What friend for thee, howe’er inclin’d,
Will deign to own a kindred
care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool
may share?
19.
In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be
seen;
No more so idly pass along;
Be something, any thing, but—mean.
August 20th, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
[Footnote 1: Stanzas 8-9 are not in the MS.]
[Footnote i:
’To Sir W. D., on his using the
expression, “Soyes constant en
amitie.”’
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote ii:
’Twere well my friend if still with
thee
Through every scene of joy and woe,
That thought could ever cherish’d
be
As warm as it was wont to glow.
[MS. L] ]
[Footnote iii:
And yet like me.
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote iv:
Forget they ever.
[MS. L. Imit. and Transl., p. 185.] ]
[Footnote v:
So short.
[MS. L.] ]
[Footnote vi:
_…a day
Will send my friendship back again._
[MS. L.]
[Footnote vii:
Each fool whose vices are the same
Whose faults with ours may blend.
[MS. L.]]
