Thbut I knowat- thy blessed bosom fraught With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thoughtI should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent, When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent) The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch seem'st thou-but how much more excellent! With nought remorse can claim-Nor Virtue scorn. SONNET. TO GENEVRA. THY cheek is pale with thought, but not from wo, Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, FAREWELL! FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer VOL. VI.U 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, These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell! 1. BRIGHT be the place of thy soul! As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine, 1 When we know that thy God is with thee. 2. Light be the turf of thy tomb! May its verdure like emeralds be: For why should we mourn for the blest? 1. WHEN we two parted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Truly that hour foretold 2. The dew of the morning I hear thy name spoken, 3. They name thee before me, A shudder comes o'er me- Who knew thee to well: Long, long shall I rue thee, 4. In secret we met In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee How should I great thee?— INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: 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, enobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808. away, THERE's not a joy the world can give like that is takes [dull decay; When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, [be past. But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself 2. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. 3. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itse 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, [appears. And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice 4. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, [hope of rest; Through midnight hours that yield no more their former These Verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr. Power, Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson. |