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. 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 place. 1802. TO E [To the son of one of Byron's tenants at Newstead.] LET Folly smile, to view the names Of thee and me in friendship twined; Yet Virtue will have greater claims To love, than rank with vice combined. 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. November, 1802. TO D [To George John, fifth Earl Delawarr.] IN thee, I fondly hoped to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. True, she has forced thee from my breast, Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat; There, there thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat. And, when the grave restores her dead, 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 lived 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. 1803. A FRAGMENT WHEN, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; Oh may my shade behold no sculptured urns To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd My epitaph shall be my name alone; 1803. ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY 'Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes, it howls in thy empty court.' – OSSIAN. THROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle; Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the way. Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who proudly to battle Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, Raise a flame in the breast for the warlaurell'd wreath; ΤΟ Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan slumbers, WRITTEN IN 'LETTERS TO AN ITALIAN J. J. ROUSSEAU: FOUNDED ON FACTS' 'AWAY, away, your flattering arts Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by May now betray some simpler hearts; And you will smile at their believing, ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED DEAR, simple girl, those flattering arts, Exist but in imagination, Mere phantoms of thine own creation; Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, Ah! fly not from the candid youth; July, 1804. ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS Animula vagula, blandula, 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. TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS AD LESBIAM [Catullus's translation of the famous ode of Sappho.] EQUAL to Jove that youth must be My limbs deny their slight support, Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS BY DOMITIUS MARSUS He who sublime in epic numbers roll'd, IMITATION OF TIBULLUS Sulpicia ad Cerinthum. -Lib. 4. CRUEL Cerinthus ! does the fell disease Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please? Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain, That I might live for love and you again: But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate; By death alone I can avoid your hate. TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, etc. YE Cupids, droop each little head, And softly fluttering here and there, Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave! IMITATED FROM CATULLUS TO ELLEN [An imitation of 'Mellitos oculos tuos, Juventi.'] OH! might I kiss those eyes of fire, never! FROM ANACREON Θέλω λέγειν Ατρείδας, κ. τ. λ. I WISH to tune my quivering lyre TRANSLATION FROM HORACE Justum et tenacem propositi virum, etc. THE man of firm and noble soul No factious clamours can control; No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow Can swerve him from his just intent: Gales the warring waves which plough, By Auster on the billows spent, To curb the Adriatic main, Would awe his fix'd determined mind in vain. Ay, and the red right arm of Jove, He would, unmoved, unawed behold. Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile. FROM ANACREON 'T WAS now the hour when Night had driven Her car half round yon sable heaven; His arctic charge around the pole; 10 20 30 No prowling robber lingers here. 40 FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ÆSCHYLUS Μηδαμ' ὁ πάντα νέμων, κ. τ. λ. How different now thy joyless fate, The blushing beauty by thy side, HARROW, December 1, 1804. |