That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye August, 1814. TO BELSHAZZAR. Belshazzar! from the banquet turn, Nor in thy sensual fulness fall; Behold! while yet before thee burn The graven words, the glowing wall, Many a despot men miscall Crown'd and anointed from on high; But thou, the weakest, worst of all-Is it not written, thou must die? Go! dash the roses from thy brow Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them; Youth's garlands misbecome thee now, More than thy very diadem, Where thou hast tarnish'd every gem :Then throw the worthless bauble by, Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn; And learn like better men to die! Oh! early in the balance weigh'd, And ever light of word and worth, Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd, And left thee but a mass of earth. To see thee moves the scorner's mirth: But tears in Hope's averted eye Lament that even thou hadst birthUnfit to govern, live, or die. ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.1 There is a tear for all that die, For them is Sorrow's purest sigh O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent: In vain their bones unburied lie, All earth becomes their monument! A tomb is theirs on every page, An epitaph on every tongue: For them the voice of festal mirth Grows hush'd, their name the only sound; While deep Remembrance pours to Worth The goblet's tributary round. A theme to crowds that knew them not, Who would not share their glorious lot? And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be; But there are breasts that bleed with thee Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. 1 This gallant officer fell in August, 1814, in his twentyninth year, whilst commanding, on shore, a party belonging to his ship, the Menelaus, and animating them, in storming the American camp near Baltimore. He was Lord Byron's first cousin; but they had never met since boyhood. E. vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is where the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath. Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, STANZAS FOR MUSIC. There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: And the midnight moon is weaving Like the swell of Summer's ocean. ON NAPOLEON'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA. Once fairly set out on his party of pleasure, Making balls for the ladies, and bows to his foes. March 27, 1815. ODE FROM THE FRENCH. I. We do not curse thee, Waterloo! As then shall shake the world with wonder II. The Chief has fallen, but not by you, With that youthful chief competed? III. And thou, too, of the snow-white plume! Such as he of Naples wears, 1 See Rev. chap. viii. v. 7, &c. "The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood," &c. v. 8. "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain bârning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood," &c. . 10. "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp: and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters." v. 11. "And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter." 2Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt. Once as the Moon sways o'er the tide, Of the eagle's burning crest (There with thunder-clouds to fan her, O'er glories gone the invaders march, France hath twice too well been taught But in equal rights and laws, Hearts and hands in one great cause-- With their breath, and from their birth, Scattering nations' wealth like sand; V. But the heart and the mind, And who shall resist that proud union? Even in this low world of care FROM THE FRENCH.3 I. Must thou go, my glorious Chief, Sever'd from thy faithful few? Who can tell thy warrior's grief, Maddening o'er that long adieu? Woman's love, and friendship's zeal, Dear as both have been to meWhat are they to all I feel, With a soldier's faith for thee? Idol of the soldier's soul! First in fight, but mightiest now; Many could a world control; Thee alone no doom can bow. cer who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. 3" All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish ofl. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even 10 the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted." DOMESTIC PIECES. 1816. Of the six following poems, the first three were written immediately before Lord Byron's final departure from England; the others, during the earlier part of his residence in the neighbourhood of Geneva. They all refer to the unhappy event, which will for ever mark the chief crisis of his personal story,-that separation from Lady Byron, of which, after all that has been said and written, the real motives and circumstances remain as obscure as ever. It is only, of course, with Lord Byron's part in the transaction that the public have any sort of title to concern themselves. He has given us this right, by making a domestic occurrence the subject of printed verses; but, so long as the other party chooses to guard that reserve, which few can be so uncharitable as not to ascribe, in the main, to a high feeling, it is entirely impossible to arrive at any clear and definite judgment on the case as a whole. Each reader must, therefore, be content to interpret for himself, as fairly as he may, an already bulky collection of evidence, which will probably be doubled before it has any claim to be considered as complete. There are, however, two important points which seem to us to be placed beyond all chance of dispute hereafter: namely, first, that Lord Byron himself never knew the preci e origin of his Lady's resolution to quit his society, in 18:6; and, secondly, that, down to the last, he never despaired of being ultimately reconciled to her. Both of these facts appear to be established, in the clearest manner, by Mr. Moore's narrative, and the whole subsequent tenor of the Poet's own diaries, letters, and conversations. Mr. Kennedy, in his account of Lord Byron's last residence in Cephalonia, represents him as saying,-" Lady Byron deserves every respect from me: I do not indeed know the cause of the separation, and I have remained, and ever will remain, rendy for a reconciliation, whenever circumstances open and point out the way to it." Mr. Moore has preserved evidence of one attempt which Lord Byron made to bring about an explanation with his Lady, ere he left Switzerland for Italy. Whether he ever repeated the experiment we are uncertain: but that failed, and the failure must be borne in mind, when the reader considers some of the smaller pieces included in this section.-See MOORE'S Notices.-E. Would that breast were bared before thee Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Though the world for this commend thee- Though my many faults defaced me, Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaineth Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth Is-that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live, but every morrow Wake us from a widow'd bed. And when thou wouldst solace gather, When our child's first accents flow, Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!" Though his care she must forego? When her little hands shall press thee, When her lip to thine is press'd, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Think of him thy love hath bless'd! Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more may'st see, All my faults perchance thou knowest, Wither, yet with thee they go. female, whose situation ought to have placed her as much beneath his satire, as the undignified mode of his attack certainly raised her above it, with regard to the other poem, opinions were a good deal more divided. To many it appeared a strain of true conjugal tenderness,-- a kind of appeal which no woman with a heart could resist; while, by others, on the contrary, it was considered to be a mere showy effusion of sentiment, as difficult for real feeling to have produced as it was easy for fancy and art, and altogether unworthy of the deep interests involved in the subject. To this latter opinion I confess my own to have, at first, strongly inclined; and suspicious as I could not help regarding the sentiment that could, at such a moment, indulge in such verses, the taste that prompted or sanctioned their publication appeared to me even still more questionable. On reading, however, his own account all the circumstances in the Memoranda, I found that on both points I had, in common with a large portion of the public, done him injustice. He there described, and in a manner whose sincerity there was no doubting, the swell of tender recollections under the influence of which, as he sat one night musing in his study, these stauzas were produced,--the tears, as he said, falling fast over the paper as he wrote them. Neither did it appear, from that account, to have been from any wish or intention of his own, but through the injudicious zeal of a friend whom he had suffered to take a copy, that the verses met the public eye."-- MOORE. The appearance of the manuscript confirms this account of the circumstances under which it was written: it is blotted all over with the marks of tears.--E. where Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess →→→ She taught the child to read, and taught so well, As many a nameless slander deftly shows: None know - but that high Soul secured the heart, Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints With all the kind mendacity of hints, While mingling truth with falsehood-sneers with smiles A thread of candour with a web of wiles; Look on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged - Where all beneath her influence droop or die. Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought, Which Flattery fool'd not - Baseness could not blind, Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with Deceit infect not near Contagion soilIndulgence weaken-nor Example spoil Nor master'd Science tempt her to look down On humbler talents with a pitying frownNor Genius swell-nor Beauty render vainNor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain prayer, Look on thine earthly victims and despair! Nor Fortune change - Pride raise-nor Passion bow, The climax of all scorn should hang on high, Nor Virtue teach austerity till now. Serenely purest of her sex that live, But wanting one sweet weakness-to forgive, Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know, She deems that all could be like her below: But to the theme: now laid aside too long, If mothers-none know why-before her quake; And leave the venom there she did not find; To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, 1"I send you my last night's dream, and request to have fifty copies struck off, for private distribution. I wish Mr. Gifford to look at them. They are from life." --Lord B. to Mr. Murray, March 30, 1816.-E. Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers-And festering in the infamy of years. March 29, 1816. STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. I. When all around grew drear and dark, And reason half withheld her rayAnd hope but shed a dying spark Which more misled my lonely way; II. In that deep midnight of the mind, 2 His sister, the Honourable Mrs. Leigh.--These stan. zas--the parting tribute to her, whose unshaken tenderness had been the author's sole consolation during the crisis of domestic misery--were, we believe, the last verses written by Lord Byron in England. In a note to Mr. Rogers, dated April 16th, he says,-"My sister is now with me, and leaves town to-morrow: we shall not meet again for some time at all events,--if ever! and, under these circumstances, I trust to stand excused you and Mr. Sheridan, for being unable to wait upon him this evening." On the 25th, the poet took a last leave of his native country.--E. |