Uh. by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast so fair,
And lips, though silent, breathing love.
When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet.
As half reproach'd yet raised desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet,
As if in kisses to expire.
And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow,
I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
In raptare's wild reality.
Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless as the mouldering stone
Which tells that we shall be no more
THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.
THERE was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that hour when first thy tongus
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown and thus unfelt by thine.
None, none hath sunk so deep as this-
To think how all that love hath flown
Transient as every faithless kiss,
But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes; my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.
Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW?
AND wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-
I would not give that bosom pain.
My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of rest.
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine,
And for awhile my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt for mine.
Oh lady! blessed be that tear
It falls for one who cannot weep:
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again;
Yet, if they grieve thee, say not so-
I would not give that bosom pain.
FILL the goblet again! for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core;
Let us drink!-who would not?-since, through life's varied
In the goblet alone no deception is found.
I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;
I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;
I have lov'd-who has not ?-but what heart can declare
That pleasure existed while passion was there?
In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,
And dreams that affection can never take wing,
I had friends!-who has not?-but what tongue will avow
That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?
The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,
Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst change
Thou grow'st old-who does not ?-but on earth what appears.
Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?
Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,
We are jealous!-who's not?-thou hast no such alloy;
For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.
Then the season of youth and its vanities past,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;
There we find-do we not-in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.
When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth,
And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,
Hope was left, was she not ?-but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.
Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own:
We must die-who shall not?-May our sins be forgiven
And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.
STANZAS TO A LADY (MRS MUSTERS) ON
LEAVING ENGLAND.
'Tis done--and shivering in the gale
The bark unfurls her snowy sail;
And whistling o'er the bending mast,
Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast:
And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one.
But could I bo what I have been,
And could I see what I have seen-
Could I repose upon the breast
Which once my warmest wishes blest-
I should not seek another zone
Because I cannot love but one.
"Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bless or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again:
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.
As some lone bird, without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate :
I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smiles or welcome face,
And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
Because I cannot love but one.
And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false fair face,
I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one.
The poorest, veriest wretch on earth,
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
Where friendship's or love's softer glow
May smile in joy or soothe in woe;
But friend or leman I have none,
Because I cannot love but one.
I go-but wheresoe'er I flee,
There's not an eye will weep for me;
There's not a kind congenial heart,
Where I can claim the meanest part;
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
Wilt sigh, although I love but one.
To think of every early scene,
Of what we are, and what we've been,
Would whelm some softer hearts with woen
But mine, alas! has stood the blow;
Yet still beats on as it begun,
But never truly loves but one.
And who that dear loved one may be
Is not for vulgar eyes to see,
And why that early love was crost,
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most;
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one.
I've tried another's fetters too,
With charms perchance as fair to view;
And I would fain have loved as well,
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for aught but one.
"Twould soothe to take one lingering view,
And bless thee in my last adieu;
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For him that wanders o'er the deep;
Though wheresoe'er my bark may run
I love but thee, I love but one.
WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA.
As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
Some name arrests the passer-by;
Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye!
And when by thee that name is read,
Perchance in some succeeding year,
Reflect on me as on the dead,
And think my heart is buried here.
TO FLORENCE. *
OH Lady! when I left the shore,
The distant shore which gave me hirt,
I hardly thought to grieve once mor
To quit another spot on earth:
Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
Where panting Nature droops the head,
Where only thou art seen to smile,
I view my parting hour with dread.
Though far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark blue main;
A few brief, rolling, seasons o'er,
Perchance I view her cliffs again.
But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime, and varied sea
Though time restore me to my home,
I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:
On thee, in whom at once conspire
All charms which heedless hearts can move,
Whom but to see is to admire,
And, oh! forgive the word-to love.
Forgive the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more offend;
And since thy heart I cannot share,
Believe me, what I am, thy friend.
And who so cold as look on thee,
Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less
Nor be, what man should ever be,
The friend of Beauty in distress!
Ah! who would think that form had past
Through Danger's most destructive path,
Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast,
And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath?
Mrs Spencer Smith, daughter of Baron Herbert, whom Lora Byron metat Malta.
|