Fame, Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine,
Lord Byron
In the valley of waters we wept on the day
Could I remount the river of my years
When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice
"Honest--honest Iago!
A spirit passed before me: I beheld
O THOU! who rollest in yon azure field,
The Moorish King rides up and down.
You ask for a "Volume of Nonsense,"
Oh! little lock of golden hue
Who hath not glowed above the page where Fame
In one dread night our city saw, and sighed,
Animula! vagula, Blandula,
Since the refinement of this polish'd age
OH well done Lord E---- n! and better done R----r!
And thou art dead, as young and fair
And wilt thou weep when I am low?
MRS. WILMOT sate scribbling a play,
Montgomery! true, the common lot
"But if any old Lady, Knight, Priest, or Physician,
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts,
IN hearts like thine ne'er may I hold a place
Canto First.
Away, away, ye notes of Woe!
OF all the twice ten thousand bards
Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; Look, you lisp,
To the air of "How now, Madam Flirt," in the Beggar's Opera.
We sate down and wept by the waters
SCENE I.--The Land without Paradise.--Time, Sunrise.
Not in those climes where I have late been straying,
"I cannot but remember such things were,
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
WHEN the vain triumph of the imperial lord,
In law an infant, and in years a boy,
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
I WOULD to Heaven that I were so much clay,
OF rhymes I printed seven volumes--
If Fate should seal my Death to-morrow,
There is a tear for all that die,
BEHOLD the blessings of a lucky lot!
"It is the voice of years, that are gone! they roll before me, with
A YEAR ago you swore, fond she!
Still must I hear?--shall hoarse FITZGERALD bawl
The world is a bundle of hay,
IN digging up your bones, Tom Paine,
IN Nottingham county there lives at Swan Green,
IT seems that the Braziers propose soon to pass
IF for silver, or for gold,
OH, Castlereagh! thou art a patriot now;
THERE'S something in a stupid ass,
DEAR Doctor, I have read your play,
"Oh! banish care"--such ever be
My Sister! my sweet Sister! if a name
MY dear Mr. Murray,
POSTERITY will ne'er survey
STRANGER! behold, interred together,
WITH Death doomed to grapple,
Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever dear!
JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell,
When Time, or soon or late, shall bring
"Alas! they had been friends in youth;
O THOU yclep'd by vulgar sons of Men
Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!
Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days,
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
Fill the goblet again! for I never before
Beside the confines of the Ægean main,
"WHAT say I?"--not a syllable further in prose;
Hills of Annesley, Bleak and Barren,
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne
"The Land where I was born sits by the Seas
ÆGLE, beauty and poet, has two little crimes;
Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
In moments to delight devoted,
You call me still your Life.--Oh! change the word--
(Reply of the Pythian Oracle to Philip of Macedon.)
SCENE I.--A woody and mountainous district near Mount
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
Who would not laugh, if Lawrence hired to grace
I saw thee weep--the big bright tear
I would I were a careless child,
If sometimes in the haunts of men
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell disease
BENEATH Blessington's eyes
When, from the heart where Sorrow sits,
When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Since our Country, our God--Oh, my Sire!
WHO killed John Keats?
THE dead have been awakened--shall I sleep?
The Night came on the Waters--all was rest
Why should my anxious breast repine,
There is no more for me to hope,
Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
WHAT are to me those honours or renown
WOULD you go to the house by the true gate,
Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,
"Fair Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
Start not--nor deem my spirit fled:
And thou wert sad--yet I was not with thee;
Weep, daughter of a royal line,
HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going,
Dear object of defeated care!
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
"Away, away,--your flattering arts
As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
Absent or present, still to thee,
Dear BECHER, you tell me to mix with mankind;
Nose and Chin that make a knocker,
I WATCHED thee when the foe was at our side,
I cannot talk of Love to thee,
The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
LUCIETTA, my deary,
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
"Dux inquieti turbidus Adria."
"Hic est, quem legis, ille, quem requiris,
'Twas after dread Pultowa's day,
When the last sunshine of expiring Day
New Song to the tune of
Why were you put in Lob's pond,
YOUTH, Nature, and relenting Jove,
My soul is dark--Oh! quickly string
Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
LADY, accept the box a hero wore,
In the dome of my Sires as the clear moonbeam falls
We do not curse thee, Waterloo!
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
On peut trouver des femmes qui n'ont jamais eu de galanterie, mais
'Tis done--but yesterday a King!
If that high world, which lies beyond
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Where are those honours, IDA! once your own,
Ill-fated Heart! and can it be,
Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection
FAMED for their civil and domestic quarrels
The "Origin of Love!"--Ah, why
In one who felt as once he felt,
On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days? Thou lookest
WHEN Thurlow this damned nonsense sent,
GOOD plays are scarce,
THROUGH Life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
HERE'S a happy New Year! but with reason
ONCE fairly set out on his party of pleasure,
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
Here once engaged the stranger's view
HIS father's sense, his mother's grace,
In this belovéd marble view
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
"Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's death,
I heard thy fate without a tear,
Anne's Eye is liken'd to the Sun,
"And my true faith can alter never,
Star of the brave!--whose beam hath shed
'T IS time this heart should be unmoved,
One struggle more, and I am free
How sweetly shines, through azure skies,
Oh! thou that roll'st above thy glorious Fire,
Half stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an
It is the hour when from the boughs
As by the fix'd decrees of Heaven,
Titan! to whose immortal eyes
God maddens him whom't is his will to lose,
The Moralists tell us that Loving is Sinning,
Remember him, whom Passion's power
Remember thee! remember thee!
'Tis done!--I saw it in my dreams:
Remind me not, remind me not,
Why, Pigot, complain
SCENE I.--A Hall in the Palace.
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
She walks in Beauty, like the night
So we'll go no more a-roving
'Twas now the noon of night, and all was still,
Breeze of the night in gentler sighs
AS the Liberty lads o'er the sea
Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
UP to battle! Sons of Suli
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
A noble Lady of the Italian shore
Rousseau--Voltaire--our Gibbon--and De Staël--
To be the father of the fatherless,
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
WHEN a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,
Could Love for ever
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,
There be none of Beauty's daughters
Bright be the place of thy soul!
They say that Hope is happiness;
Oh! my lonely--lonely--lonely--Pillow!
Tis done--and shivering in the gale
This votive pledge of fond esteem,
Though the day of my Destiny's over,
When all around grew drear and dark,
There is a mystic thread of life
River, that rollest by the ancient walls,
Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story--
KIND Reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Adieu, thou Hill! where early joy
The "good old times"--all times when old are good--
"Nimium ne crede colori."--Virgil,
"Had we never loved sae kindly,
The chain I gave was fair to view,
WHAT matter the pangs of a husband and father,
THE Son of Love and Lord of War I sing;
No specious splendour of this stone
"----nessun maggior dolore,
Pallas te hoc Vulnere Pallas
Dear are the days of youth! Age dwells on their remembrance through the
SCENE I.--A Forest.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
THE Devil returned to Hell by two,
Our life is twofold: Sleep hath its own world,
'Tis fifty years, and yet their fray
Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood,
Ha barbitos de chordais
Oh never talk again to me
The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept,
Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave,
The morning watch was come; the vessel lay
Long years!--It tries the thrilling frame to bear
In the beginning was the Word next God;
DO you know Doctor Nott?
Father of Light! great God of Heaven!
My hair is grey, but not with years,
"'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
In the year since Jesus died for men,
The spell is broke, the charm is flown!
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
SCENE I.--A Hall in the Ducal Palace.
"A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
"Qualis in Eurotæ ripis, aut per juga Cynthi,
The wild gazelle on Judah's hills
There was a time, I need not name,
Thou art not false, but thou art fickle,
High in the midst, surrounded by his peers,
Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Sweet girl! though only once we met,
Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless crew!
Oh! had my Fate been join'd with thine,
This Band, which bound thy yellow hair
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
When Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,
Ah, heedless girl! why thus disclose
Few years have pass'd since thou and I
Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground,
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous:
Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
Belshazzar! from the banquet turn,
You say you love, and yet your eye
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
When I hear you express an affection so warm,
In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp
UNHAPPY Dives! in an evil hour
Let Folly smile, to view the names
"Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico."--HORACE.
Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Since now the hour is come at last,
Oh Lady! when I left the shore,
AND, dost thou ask the reason of my sadness?
Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other;
Harriet! to see such Circumspection,
LESBIA! since far from you I've rang'd,
"I lay my branch of laurel down."
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive;
Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
MARION! why that pensive brow?
This faint resemblance of thy charms,
TO hook the Reader, you, John Murray,
FOR Orford and for Waldegrave
Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the times,
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue
THIS day, of all our days, has done
Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt:
You have asked for a verse:--the request
Dorset! whose early steps with mine have stray'd,
Tu semper amoris
The sacred song that on mine ear
Your pardon, my friend,
OH you, who in all names can tickle the town,
My boat is on the shore,
What are you doing now,
Without a stone to mark the spot,
Time! on whose arbitrary wing
Woman! experience might have told me
Oh! well I know your subtle Sex,
But once I dared to lift my eyes--
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite,
Mingle with the genial bowl
I wish to tune my quivering lyre,
'Twas now the hour when Night had driven
Equal to Jove that youth must be--
Ye Cupids, droop each little head,
Justum et tenacem propositi virum.
When fierce conflicting passions urge
Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughter had
Ah! Love was never yet without
He who, sublime, in epic numbers roll'd,
Sons of the Greeks, arise!
OH how I wish that an embargo
I enter thy garden of roses,
'Tis midnight--but it is not dark
When Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought,"
I READ the "Christabel;"
The King was on his throne,
Well! thou art happy, and I feel
Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
SCENE I.--The Hall of a decayed Palace near a small
SCENE I.--A ruinous chateau on the Silesian frontier of Bohemia.
When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,
When we two parted
FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties,
If, in the month of dark December,