Oh FAME!-if I e'er took delight in thy praises, There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; November, 1821. STANZAS. Could Love for ever Run like a river, And Time's endeavour Be tried in vain— No other pleasure With this could measure; And like a treasure We'd hug the chain. But since our sighing Ends not in dying, And, form'd for flying, Love plumes his wing; Then for this reason Let's love a season; But let that season be only Spring. When lovers parted Feel broken-hearted, Expect to die; Ah! how much colder For whom they sigh! When link'd together, In every weather, They pluck Love's feather He'll stay for ever, But sadly shiver Without his plumage, when past the Spring. (1819.) DONNA JULIA'S LETTER. [From Don Juan. Canto I.] They tell me 'tis decided you depart : 'Tis wise-'tis well, but not the less a pain ; Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears; I loved, I love you; for this love have lost So dear is still the memory of that dream; None can deem harshlier of me than I deem: Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart; Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone. You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride, For me on earth, except some years to hide My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core: These I could bear, but cannot cast aside The passion which still rages as before,— My breast has been all weakness, is so yet; To all, except one image, madly blind, I have no more to say, but linger still, And dare not set my seal upon this sheet, And yet I may as well the task fulfil, My misery can scarce be more complete: I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill; Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet, And I must even survive this last adieu, FIRST LOVE. [From the same.] 'Tis sweet to hear At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet The unexpected death of some old lady Or gentleman of seventy years complete, Who've made us youth' wait too-too long already For an estate, or cash, or country seat, Still breaking, but with stamina so steady That all the Israelites are fit to mob its 'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels, Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, Like Adam's recollection of his fall; The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd—all's known— And life yields nothing further to recall Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven. THE ISLES OF GREECE. [From Don Juan. Canto III.] The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, The mountains look on Marathon- I dreamed that Greece might still be free; A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And men in nations ;-all were his! The heroic bosom beats no more! 1 |