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Could I repose upon the breast
From aloft the signal's streaming,
Hark! the farewell gun is fired; Women screeching, tars blaspheming, Tell us that our tiine's expired.
Here's a rascal
Come to task all,
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 ou board
Thus are screaming
Men and women,
All are wrangling,
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 woeBut 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 Por him that wanderg o'er the deep; His home, his hope, his youth are gone, Yet still he loves, and loves but one.
3. 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, 't is hardly three feet square; Not enough to stow Queen Mab inWho the deuce can harbour there?"
“Who, sir ? plenty
“Did they ?” Jesus,
How you squeeze us!
4. Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you?
Stretch'd along the deck like loggBear 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 -
of warm water"
" What's the matter?" " Zounds! my liver 's coming up; I shall not survive the racket or this brutal Lisbon Packet."
LINES TO MR. HODGSON.
Falmouth Roads, Jane 30th, 1809.
Our embargo's off at last,
3 % 99
5. Now at length we're off for Turkey
Lord knows when we shall come tack Breezes foul and tempests murky
May unship us in a crack.
But, since life at most a jest is,
As philosophers allow,
Laugh at all things,
Great and small things, Sick or well, at sea or shore;
While we're quaffing,
Let's have laughingWho the devil cares for more ? Some good wine! and who would lack it, Even on board the Lisbon Packet?
LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT OR
I've seen my bride another's bride, -
But let this pass—I'll wbine no more
IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN "Pair Albion smiling, sees her son depart To trace the birth and nursery of art: Noble his object, glorious is his aim: He comes to Athens, and he writes his name."
BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING
'ymes on our nemes, but wisely hides his own:
ON MOORE'S LAST OPERATIC FARCE. A FARCICAL EPIGRAM.
Sept. 14, 1811.
So Moore writes farce :
We knew before
That Little's Moore,
EPISTLE TO MR. HODGSON,
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.
TO LORD THURLOW.
Lord Thurlon's Line to Me Beginn
1. “I lay my branch of laurel down." Thou “lay thy branch of laurel down!
Why, what thou 'st stole is not enow;
And, were it lawfully thine own,
Does Rogers want it most, or thou ?
Or send it back to Doctor Donne-
Inquire among your fellow-lodgers,
And owls sent to Athens as wonders,
Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders;
When Castlereagh's wife has an beir, Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel,
And thou shalt have plenty to spare.
Singing "Glory to God" in a spick and span stanza,
THE DEVIL'S DRIVE.
TO THOMAS MOORE.
WRITTEN THE EVENING BEFORE HIS VISIT, IN COMPANY
WITH LORD BYRON, TO MR. LEIGH HUNT IN COLD BATH
Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,
But now to my letter-to yours 't is an answer-
(Or this strange, wild poem, which extends tu about two hundred and fifty
lines, the only copy that Lord Byron, I believe, ever wrote, he presented
And he staid at home till five;
And a rebel or so in an Irish stew,
“And," quoth he, “I'll take a drive.
"If I follow'd my taste, indeed,
And smile to see them bleed.
And at present my purpose is speed;
A chariot in Seymour-place;
FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE TO TIIOMAS
1. "Wuat say I?"not a syllable further in prose; I'm your man "of all measures," dear Tom, --so, here
By driving my favourite pace:
Then up to the earth spring he;
He stepp'd across the sea.
5. But first as he flew, I forgot to say, That he hover'd a moment upon his way
To look upon Leipsic plain; And so sweet to his eye was its sulphury glare, And so soft to his ear was the cry of despair,
That he perch'd on a mountain of slain: And he gazed with delight from its growing height, Nor often on earth had he seen such a sight,
Nor his work done hall so well: For the field ran so red with the blood of the dead,
That it blush'd like the waves of hell! Then loudly, and wildly, and long laugh'd he: “Methinks they have here little need of me !"
And he saw the tears in Lord Eldon's eyes,
Because the Catholics would not rise,
In spite of his prayers and his prophecies; And he heard--which set Satan himself a staring A certain chief justice say something like smotar
ing. And the Devil was shock'd-and quoth be, "I
must go, For I find we have much better manners below. If thus he harangues when he passes my border, I shall hint to friend Moloch to call him to order.
ADDITIONAL STANZAS, TO THE ODE TO
8. But the softcst note that soothed his ear
Was the sound of a widow sighing; And the sweetest sight was the icy tear, Which horror froze in the blue eye clear
Of a maid by her lover lyingAs round her fell her long fair hair: And she look'd to heaven with that frenzied air Which seem'd to ask if a God were there! And, stretch'd by the wall of a ruin'd hut, With its hollow check, and eyes hall shut,
A child of famine dying: And the carnage begun, when resistance is done,
And the fall of the vainly flying !
And what did he there, I pray?
What we see every day;
Its coachman and his coat;
And seized him by the throat:
And bade him have no fear, But be true to his club, and staunch to his rein,
His brothel, and his beer; “Next to seeing a lord at the council board,
I would rather see him here."
17. There was a day-there was an hour,
While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thine
Unsated to resign
And gilded thy decline,
And don the purple vest,
Remembrance from thy breast.
The star-the string-the crest?
When gazing on the great; Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state ? Yes-one-the first--the last-the best The Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeath'd the name of Washington,
To make man blush there was but onel
TO LADY CAROLINE LAMB.
17. The Devil gat next to Westminster,
And he turn'd " to the room” of the Commons; But he heard, as he proposed to enter in there,
That “the Lords" had received a summons; And he thought as a “ quondam aristocrat," He might peep at the peers, though to hear them
were flat; And he walk'd up the house so like one of our
own, That they say that he stood pretty near the throne.
18. lle saw the Lord Liverpool seemingly wise,
The Lord Westmoreland certainly silly, And Johnny of Norfolk-a man of some size
And Chatham, so like his friend Billy;
And say'st thou that I have not felt,
Whilst thou wert thus estranged from me Nor know'st how dearly I have dwelt
On one unbroken dream of thee? But love like ours must never be,
And I will learn to prize thce less; As thou hast fled, so let me flee,
And change the heart thou may'st not bless They 'll tell thee, Clara! I have seem'd,
of late, another's charms to woo, Nor sighd, nor frown'd, as if I deemid
That thou wert banish'd from my vien. Clara! this struggle-10 undo
What thou hast done too well, for me This mask before the babbling crew
This treachery-was truth to thee:
I have not wept while thou wert gone, ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT THE
Who hath not glow'd above the page where fame (Ah! need I name her?) could bestow.
Hath fix'd high Caledon's unconquer'd name;
The mountain-land which spurn'd the Roman chain,
And baffled back the fiery.crested Dane,
Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand
No foe could tame-no tyrant could command ?
That race is gone--but still their children breathe,
And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:
O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,
And England! add their stubborn strength to thine.
The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free,
But now 't is only shed for fame and thee!
Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,
But give support-the world hath given him fame!
The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled
While cheerly following where the mighty led,
Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod
Where happier comrades in their triumph trod,
To us bequeath-'t is all their fate allows-
The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:
She on high Albyn's dusky hilis may raise
The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,
The Highland scer's anticipated woes,
The bleeding phantom of each martial form
Dini in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;
While sad, she chants the solitary song,
The soft lament for him who tarries long-
For him, whose distant relics vainly crave
The Coronach'a wild requiem to the brave.
Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow.
Of ha!f its bitterness for one so dear;
A nation's gratitude perchance may spread
A thornless pillow for the widow'd head; | SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,
May lighten well her heart's maternal care, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the faine: And wean from penury the soldier's heir. But the tear which now burns on my cheek may im.
May, 1814 part The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
ON THE PRINCE REGENT'S RETURNING THE Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
PICTURE OF SARAH, COUNTESS OF JERSEY Were those hours-can their joy or their bitterness
TO MRS. MEE. cease?
When the vain triumph of the imperial lord, We repent - we abjure - we will break from our Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorrid, chain,
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, We will part,-we will fly to-unite it again! That left a likeness of the brave or just; 3.
What most admired each scrutinizing eye Oh! thine be the gladness, anil mine be the guilt!
Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry ? Forgive me, adored one!-forsake, if thou wilt;
What spread from face to face that wondering air i But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, The thought of Brutus-for his was not there! And man shall not break it-whatever thou mayest.
That absence proved his worth,—that absence fixu
His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd;
And more decreed his glory to andure,
If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze sweet, With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feel. Bright though they be, thine own had render'd less
Amid those pictured charms, whose loveliness,
if he, that vain old man, whom truth admits
May, 1814. To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief: