FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST

PRAYER.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel; I only know we loved in vain

I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell!

BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL.
BRIGHT be the place of thy soul !
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control

In the orbs of the blessed to shine.

On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine,
When we know that thy God is with thee.
Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be;
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest:
But nor cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest!

WHEN WE TWO PARTED. WHEN we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met-
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,

How should I greet thee?-
With silence and tears.

TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. FEW years have pass'd since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity

Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most, Too soon forget they loved at all. And such the change the heart displays, So frail is early friendship's reign, A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, Will view thy mind estranged again. If so, it never shall be mine

To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art. As rolls the ocean's changing tide,

So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide Where stormy passions ever glow It boots not that, together bred,

Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's control,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul.

Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.
Not so in Man's maturer years,
When Man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all must love and hate by rule.
With fools in kindred vice the same,
We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.
Such is the common lot of man :

Can we then 'scape from folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,

Nor be what all in turn must be?

No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been;
Man and the world so much I hate,

I care not when I quit the scene.
But thou, with spirit frail and light,

Wilt shine awhile and pass away; As glow-worms sparkle through the night, But dare not stand the test of day. Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet (For cherish'd first in royal halls,

The welcome vices kindly greet), Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add One insect to the fluttering crowd; And still thy trifling heart is glad

To join the vain and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair to fair,

Still simpering on with eager haste, As flies along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say, what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapours move, To flit along from dame to dame,

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?
What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share?
In time forbear; amidst the throng

No more so base a thing be seen;
No more so idly pass along;

Be something, anything, but-mean.

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP

FORMED FROM A SKULL.
START not-nor deem my spirit fled;
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

I lived, I loved, I quaff'd like thee:
I died let earth my bones resign;

Fill up thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.
Better to hold the sparkling grape,
Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood:
And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of gods, than reptile's food.
Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?
Quaff while thou canst: another race,
When thou and thine, like me, are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,

And rhyme and revel with the dead. Why not? since through life's little day Our heads such sad effects produce; Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use.

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.
WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's blest-and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass---Oh! how my heart
Would hate him if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,

And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.

I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride,
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew till seated by thy side,

My heart in all,-save hope,-the same.
Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look;
But now to tremble were a crime-
We met, and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there;
One only feeling couldst thou trace,
The sullen calmness of despair.
Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake:
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart, be still, or break.

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT
OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rest below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit !
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn: To mark a friend's remains these stones arise; I never knew but one,-and here he lies.

TO A LADY,

ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING
ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.

WHEN Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,
And bade him curse his future fate.
But, wandering on through distant climes
He learnt to bear his load of grief;
Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes relief.

Thus, lady will it be with me,

And I must view thy charms no more;
For while I linger near to thee,

I sigh for all I knew before.
In flight I shall be surely wise,
Escaping from temptation's snare ;
I cannot view my paradise

Without the wish of dwelling there.

REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.
REMIND me not, remind me not,

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move?
Oh! 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 reproached, 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
Scem'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 rapture'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 tongue
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, but 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.

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.
A SONG.

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 round,

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 loved!-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, [years?

Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Should a rival bow down to your 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; [soul, There we find-do we not?-in the flow of the 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 has 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, ON LEAVING
ENGLAND.

"TIS done-and shivering in the gale
The bark unfurls her snowy sail;

⚫ Mrs Musters, formerly Mary Chaworth

And whistling o'er the bending mast,
Loud sings on high the freshening blast;
And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one.

But could I be 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 bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again;
For though I fly from Aibion,
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 smile, 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 carly scene,

Of what we are, and what we've been,
Would whelm some softer hearts with woe--
But mine, alas! has stood the blow;
Yet still beats on as it begun,
And 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;
His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
Yet still he loves, and loves but one.

LINES TO MR HODGSON.

WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET.

HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going,

Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing

Bend the canvas o'er the mast. From aloft the signal's streaming,

Hark! the farewell gun is fired;
Women screeching, tars blaspheming,
Tell us that our time's expired.
Here's a rascal

Come to task all,
Prying from the custom-house;
Trunks unpacking,
Cases cracking,

Not a corner for a mouse
'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.
Now our boatmen quit their mooring,
And all hands must ply the oar;
Baggage from the quay is lowering,

We're impatient, push from shore.
'Have a care! that case holds liquor-
Stop the boat-I'm sick-oh Lord!'
'Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker
Ere you've been an hour on board.'

Thus are screaming
Men and women,
Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;
Here entangling,

All are wrangling,
Stuck together close as wax.-
Such the general noise and racket,
Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.

Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain,
Gallant Kidd, commands the crew;
Passengers their berths are clapt in,
Some to grumble, some to spew.
'Heyday! call you that a cabin?

Why 'tis hardly three feet square:
Not enough to stow Queen Mab in-
Who the deuce can harbour there?'
Who, sir? plenty-
Nobles twenty

Did at once my vessel fill.'

'Did they? Jesus,

How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still : Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.' Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you? Stretch'd along the deck like logsBear a hand, you jolly tar, you! Here's a rope's end for the dogs.

Hobhouse muttering fearful curses, As the hatchway down he rolls, Now his breakfast, now his verses, Vomits forth-and damns our souls. 'Here's a stanza

On Braganza

Help!'-'A couplet?'-' No, a cup
Of warm water-'

'What's the matter?'

'Zounds! my liver's coming up; I shall not survive the racket

Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.'
Now at length we're off for Turkey,
Lord knows when we shall come back
Breezes foul and tempests murky

May unship us in a crack.
But, since life at most a jest is,
As philosophers allow,
Still to laugh by far the best is,
Then laugh on-as I do now.
Laugh at all things,

Great and small things,
Sick or well, at sea or shore;
While we're quaffing,

Let's have laughing

Who the devil cares for more?Some good wine! and who would lack it, Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet?

TO FLORENCE.

OH Lady! when I left the shore,
The distant shore which gave me birth,
I hardly thought to grieve once more,
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 wanderer, 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,