She fear'd that, too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for her own:

Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk

Within those once celestial eyes.

These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all;

But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

'Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
But they would ne'er permit thee there,
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.

1806.

D

(INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL.)

TART 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.

NEWSTEAD ABBEY, 1808.

(Set to Music by J. HOBBS.)

HEARD thy fate without a tear,
Thy loss without a sigh;
And yet thou wert surpassing dear,
Too loved of all to die.

I know not what has sear'd mine eye,

The tears refuse to start; But every drop its lids deny

Falls dreary on my heart.

Yes, deep and heavy, one by one,
They sink and turn to care;
As cavern'd waters wear the stone,
Yet dropping harden there :
They cannot petrify more fast

Than feelings sunk remain;
Which coldly fix'd regard the past,
But never melt again.

*Not in the collected works of Lord Byron.

(Set to Music by J. NATHAN and H. H. PIERSON.)

AID of Athens, ere we part,

M

Give, oh give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!

Hear my vow before I go,
Ζώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.*

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Ζώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.

*"My dearest Life, I love Thee!"