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EPIGRAM ON MY WEDDING-DAY. to PEN ELore.
This day, of all our days, has done
ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTH-DAY. JANUARY 22. 1 S21. 1
Through life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
on THE BRAziERs' coxsrANY HAvi No Resolved to PRESENT AN ADDREss to QUEEN CARolix E. 2
Tii E braziers, it seems, are preparing to pass
An address, and present it themselves all in brass; –
A superfluous pageant — for, by the Lord Harry :
They'll find where they're going much more than they carry. 3
MARTIAL, LIB. I. Eric. l.
“Hic est, quem legis, ille, quem requiris, Tota notus in orbe Martialis,” &c.
HE unto whom thou art so partial,
BOWLES AND CAMPIdELL. To the tune of “Why, how now, saucy jade 2"
WHY, how now, saucy Tom 7
I will publish some
1 [In Lord Byron's MS. Diary of the so day, we find the following entry: – “January 21. 1S21. Dined—visited – came home – read. Remarked on an anecdote in Grimm's Correspondence, which says, that ‘ Regnard et la F. des poetes comiques étaient gens bilieux et melancoiques ; et que M. de Voltaire, o est très-gai, n'a jamais fait que des tragedies— et que la comédie gaie estle seul genre oil il n'ait point réussi, C'est que celui qui rit et celui qui fait, rire sont deux hommes fort différens !" At this moment I feel as bilious as the best comic writer of them all (even as Regnard himself, the next to Molière, who has written some of the best comedies in any language, and who is supposed to have committed suicide), and am not in spirits to continue my proposed tragedy. To-morrow is my birthday — that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight: i. e. in twelve minutes, I shall have completed thirty and three rears of age : " " — and I go to my bed with a heaviness of court at having lived so long, and to so little purpose. - - - - It is three minutes past twelve – “T is the middle of night by the castle-clock, and I am now thirtythree : —
‘Fheu, fugaces, Posthume, Posthume, Labuntur anni; " — but I don't regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have done."]
* [The procession of the Braziers to Brandenburgh House was one of the most absurd fooleries of the time of the late Queen's trial.] * [“There is an epigram for you, is it not 2–worthy Of Wordsworth, the grand methouizzical poet, A man of vast merit, though few people know it; The perusal of whom (as I told you at Mestri) I owe, in great part, to my passion for pastry.” Byron Letters, January 22. 1821.] * ["Excuse haste, – I write with my spurs putting on.”— Lord Byron to Mr. Moore, Feb. 22. o * [“Are you aware that Shelley has written an elegy on Keats, and accuses the Quarterly of killing ... "... Byron to Mr. Murray, July 30. 1821.]
! [“The last line – ‘A name never spoke but with curses or jeers' must run, either “A name only uttered with curses or jeers,” or, “A wretch never named but with curses or jeers,” becase as how “ spoke' is not grammar, except in the House of Commons. So pray put §'. poetical per through the MS., and take the least bad of the emendations. Also, if there be any further breaking of Priscian's head, will you apply a plaster 2" — Lord Byron to Mr. Moore, Sept. 19.
2 [“I composed these stanzas (except the fourth, added
Byron Diary, Pisa, 6th Nov. 1821.] * [In the same Diary, we find the following painfully interesting passage:– “As far as FAME goes (that is to say, living Fame), I have had my share, perhaps – indeed, cer. tainly — more than my deserts. Some odd instances have occurred to my own experience of the wild and strange places to which a name may penetrate, and where it may impress. Two years ago — (almost three, being in August, or July, 1819) — I received a letter in English verse from Drontheim in Norway, written by a Norwegian, and full of the usual compliments, &c. &c. In the same month I received an invitation into Holstein, from a Mr. Jacobson, I think, of Hamburgh; also (by the same medium) a translation of
Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not my
For happy are they now reposing afar, –
Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war,
Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day –
Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay.
Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore, Though their virtues were hunted,their liberties fled:
There was something so warm and sublime in the core Of an Irishman's heart, that I envy — thy dead.
Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour
w RITTEN ON THE ROAD BEtween flor-Exce. AND Pisa. 3
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is
Oh FAME ( 3–if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my
story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. - November, 1821.
Medora's song in the ‘Corsair," by a Westphalian baroness (not Thunderten-tronck'), with some original verses of hers (very pretty and Klopstockish), and a prose translation annexed to them, on the subject of my wife. As they concerned her more than me, I sent them to her with Mr. Jacobson's letter. It was odd enough to receive an invitation to pass the summer in Holstein, while in Italy, from people I never knew. The letter was addressed to Venice. Mr. J. talked to me of the wild roses growing in the Holstein summer: 'why, then, did the Cimbri and the Teutones emigrate 2 — What a strange thing is life and man : Were I to present myself at the door of the house where my daughter now is, the door would be shut in my face, unless (as is not impossible) I knocked down the porter; and if I had gone in that year (and perhaps now) to Drontheim (the furthest town in Norway), or into Holstein, I should have been received with open arms into the mansions of strangers and foreigners — attached to me by no tie but that of mind and rumour. As far as Fame goes. I have had my share : it has, indeed, been leavened by other human contingencies ; and this in a o degree than has occurred to most literary men of a ecent rank on life : but. on the whole, I take it that such equipoise is the condition of humanity.”]