Preface

Contents

Poems on Various Occasions

Bibliographical Note to 'Hours of Idleness' and Other Early Poems

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Bibliographical Note to English Bards and Scotch Reviewers

"This Poem," writes Byron [MSS. M.], "was begun in October, 1807, in London, and at different intervals composed from that period till September, 1808, when it was completed at Newstead Abbey.—B., 1808."

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Fugitive Pieces

On Leaving Newstead Abbeya

I. Through thy battlements, Newstead2, the hollow winds whistleb: Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way. 2. Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly, to battlec, Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain3, The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry blast rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. 3. No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell'd wreath; Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan4 slumbers, Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel, by death. 4. Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy; For the safety of Edward and England they fell: My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye: How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell. 5. On Marston5, with Rupert6, 'gainst traitors contending, Four brothers enrich'd, with their blood, the bleak field; For the rights of a monarch their country defendingd, Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd7. 6.

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieue! Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. 7. Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separationf, 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regretg; Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, The fame of his Fathers he ne'er can forgeth. 8. That fame, and that memory, still will he cherishi; He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown: Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own! 1803.

Through the cracks in these battlements loud the winds whistle For the hall of my fathers is gone to decay; And in yon once gay garden the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way.

Of the barons of old, who once proudly to battle.

For Charles the Martyr their country defending.

'Tis nature, not fear, which commands his regret.

In the grave he alone can his fathers forget.

Your fame, and your memory, still will he cherish.

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To E—— 1

Let Folly smile, to view the names Of thee and me, in Friendship twin'd; Yet Virtue will have greater claims To love, than rank with vice combin'd. And though unequal is thy fate, Since title deck'd my higher birth; Yet envy not this gaudy state, Thine is the pride of modest worth. Our souls at least congenial meet, Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace; Our intercourse is not less sweet, Since worth of rank supplies the place.

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On the Death of a Young Lady1, Cousin to the Author, and very dear to Him

1. Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb, And scatter flowers on the dust I love. 2. Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay, where once such animation beam'd; The King of Terrors seiz'd her as his prey; Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd. 3. Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate, Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the Muse her virtues would relate. 4. But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; And weeping angels lead her to those bowers, Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay. 5. And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign! And, madly, Godlike Providence accuse! Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;— I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse. 6. Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted placea. 1802.

"My first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of a passion for—my first cousin, Margaret Parker (daughter and granddaughter of the two Admirals Parker), one of the most beautiful of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten the verse; but it would be difficult for me to forget her—her dark eyes—her long eye-lashes—her completely Greek cast of face and figure! I was then about twelve—she rather older, perhaps a year. She died about a year or two afterwards, in consequence of a fall, which injured her spine, and induced consumption ... I knew nothing of her illness, being at Harrow and in the country till she was gone. Some years after, I made an attempt at an elegy—a very dull one."— Byron Diary, 1821; Life, p. 17.

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To D——1

1. In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant graspa, Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. 2. True, she has forc'd thee from my breast, Yet, in my heart, thou keep'st thy seatb; There, there, thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat. 3. And, when the grave restores her dead, When life again to dust is given, On thy dear breast I'll lay my head— Without thee! where would be my Heaven? February, 1803

But envy with malignant grasp, Has torn thee from my breast for ever.

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To Carolinea

1. Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay; And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs, Which said far more than words can sayb? 2. Though keen the grief thy tears exprestc, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own. 3. But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine. 4. Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breath'd my name. 5. And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But that, will make us weep the more. 6. Again, thou best belov'd, adieu! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only hope is, to forget! 1805.

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To Caroline1

1. You say you love, and yet your eye No symptom of that love conveys, You say you love, yet know not why, Your cheek no sign of love betrays. 2. Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee. 3. Whene'er we meet my blushes rise, And mantle through my purpled cheek, But yet no blush to mine replies, Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak. 4. Your voice alone declares your flame, And though so sweet it breathes my name, Our passions still are not the same; Alas! you cannot love like me. 5. For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow, And though so oft it meets my kiss, It burns with no responsive glow, Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss. 6. Ah! what are words to love like mine, Though uttered by a voice like thine, I still in murmurs must repine, And think that love can ne'er be true, 7. Which meets me with no joyous sign, Without a sigh which bids adieu; How different is my love from thine, How keen my grief when leaving you. 8. Your image fills my anxious breast,

Till day declines adown the West, And when at night, I sink to rest, In dreams your fancied form I view. 9. 'Tis then your breast, no longer cold, With equal ardour seems to burn, While close your arms around me fold, Your lips my kiss with warmth return. 10. Ah! would these joyous moments last; Vain Hope! the gay delusion's past, That voice!—ah! no, 'tis but the blast, Which echoes through the neighbouring grove. 11. But when awake, your lips I seek, And clasp enraptur'd all your charms, So chill's the pressure of your cheek, I fold a statue in my arms. 12. If thus, when to my heart embrac'd, No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd, You may be prudent, fair, and chaste, But ah! my girl, you do not love.

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To Emma1

1. Since now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover; Since now, our dream of bliss is past, One pang, my girl, and all is over. 2. Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Which tears me far from one so dear, Departing for a distant shore. 3. Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, And joy will mingle with our tears; When thinking on these ancient towers, The shelter of our infant years; 4. Where from this Gothic casement's height, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell, And still, though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell, 5. O'er fields through which we us'd to run, And spend the hours in childish play; O'er shades where, when our race was done, Reposing on my breast you lay; 6. Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss, It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes: 7. See still the little painted bark, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park, The elm I clamber'd for your sake. 8. These times are past, our joys are gone,

You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes, I must retrace alone; Without thee, what will they avail? 9. Who can conceive, who has not prov'd, The anguish of a last embrace? When, torn from all you fondly lov'd, You bid a long adieu to peace. 10. This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu!

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Fragments of School Exercises: From the Prometheus Vinctus of Æschylus

Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne Both Gods and mortals homage pay, Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall, In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; My voice shall raise no impious strain, 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main. ... How different now thy joyless fate, Since first Hesione thy bride, When plac'd aloft in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd, And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd; The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd2. Harrow, December 1, 1804.

"My first Harrow verses (that is, English, as exercises), a translation of a chorus from the Prometheus of Æschylus, were received by Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our headmaster), but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poetry."

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Lines written in "Letters of an Italian Nun and an English Gentleman, by J.J. Rousseau1: Founded on Facts"

"Away, away,—your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts; And you will smile at their believing, And they shall weep at your deceiving."

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Answer to the Foregoinga, Addressed to Miss——

Dear simple girl, those flattering arts, (From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,)b Exist but in imagination, Mere phantoms of thine own creationc; For he who views that witching grace, That perfect form, that lovely face, With eyes admiring, oh! believe me, He never wishes to deceive thee: Once in thy polish'd mirror glanced Thou'lt there descry that elegance Which from our sex demands such praises, But envy in the other raises.— Then he who tells thee of thy beautye, Believe me, only does his duty: Ah! fly not from the candid youth; It is not flattery, — 'tis truthf. July, 1804.

Answer to the above.

From which you'd.

Mere phantoms of your own creation; For he who sees.

Once let you at your mirror glance You'll there descry that elegance,

Then he who tells you of your beauty.

It is not flattery, but truth.

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On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School1

Where are those honours, Ida! once your own, When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne? As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, Hail'd a Barbarian in her Cæsar's place, So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate. Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soula, Pomposus holds you in his harsh controul; Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, With florid jargon, and with vain parade; With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules, (Such as were ne'er before enforc'd in schools.)b Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws, He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause; With him the same dire fate, attending Rome, Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom: Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame, No trace of science left you, but the name, Harrow, July, 1805.

"Dr. Drury," said Byron, in one of his note-books, "was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father."

"I treated him rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since."

——but of a narrower soul.

Such as were ne'er before beheld in schools.

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Epitaph on a Beloved Friend1

Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever deara! What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier! What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death! Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force; Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey; Thou still hadst liv'd to bless my aching sight, Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight. If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, But living statues there are seen to weep; Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. What though thy sire lament his failing line, A father's sorrows cannot equal mine! Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer, Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here: But, who with me shall hold thy former place? Thine image, what new friendship can efface?

Ah, none!—a father's tears will cease to flow, Time will assuage an infant brother's woe; To all, save one, is consolation known, While solitary Friendship sighs alone. Harrow, 1803

"Thou wert the morning star Among the living, Ere thy fair light had fled; Now having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving New splendour to the dead."

Oh Boy! for ever lov'd, for ever dear! What fruitless tears have wash'd thy honour'd bierb; What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs of death. Could tears have turn'd the tyrant in his course, Could sighs have checked his dart's relentless forcec; Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey, Thou still had'st liv'd to bless my aching sight, Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight: Though low thy lot since in a cottage born, No titles did thy humble name adorn, To me, far dearer, was thy artless love, Than all the joys, wealth, fame, and friends could prove. For thee alone I liv'd, or wish'd to live, (Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive,) Heart-broken now, I wait an equal doom, Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb; Where this frail form compos'd in endless rest, I'll make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast; That breast where oft in life, I've laid my head, Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead; This life resign'd, without one parting sigh,

Together in one bed of earth we'll lie! Together share the fate to mortals given, Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven.

have bath'd thy honoured bier.

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Adrian's Address to his Soul when Dying

Animula! vagula, Blandula, Hospes, comesque corporis, Quæ nunc abibis in Loca— Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis Jocos?

Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite, Friend and associate of this clay! To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight? No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. 1806.

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A Fragment1

When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns, To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stonea; My epitaph shall be my name alone2: If that with honour fail to crown my clayb, Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay! That, only that, shall single out the spot; By that remember'd, or with that forgotc. 1803

No lengthen'd scroll of virtue and renown.

"Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for instance, 'Martini Luigi Implora pace.' Can anything be more full of pathos? I hope whoever may survive me will see those two words, and no more, put over me."

If that with honour fails,

But that remember'd, or fore'er forgot.

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To Caroline1

1. Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay? The present is hell! and the coming to-morrow But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day. 2. From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no cursesa, I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss; For poor is the soul which, bewailing, rehearses Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this— 3. Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning, Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage, On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage. 4. But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. 5. Yet, still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Love and Hope upon earth bring no more consolation, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. 6.

Oh! when, my ador'd, in the tomb will they place me, Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Perhaps they will leave unmolested—the dead. 1805.

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To Caroline1

1. When I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive. 2. Yet still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear; 3. That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. 4. Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, In the death which one day will deprive you of mea. 5. Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotionb, No doubt can the mind of your lover invade; He worships each look with such faithful devotion, A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade. 6. But as death, my belov'd, soon or late shall o'ertake us,

And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us, When calling the dead, in Earth's bosom laid low. 7. Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flowc; Let us pass round the cup of Love's bliss in full measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below. 1805.