The Works of Lord Byron Volume III Part 8

6.

I know not if I could have borne[bf]

To see thy beauties fade; The night that followed such a morn Had worn a deeper shade: Thy day without a cloud hath pa.s.sed,[bg]

And thou wert lovely to the last; Extinguished, not decayed; As stars that shoot along the sky[bh]

s.h.i.+ne brightest as they fall from high.

7.

As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed; To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.

8.

Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free,[bi]

The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee!

The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity[bj]

Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears Than aught, except its living years.

_February_, 1812.

[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition).]

LINES TO A LADY WEEPING.[bk][35]

Weep, daughter of a royal line, A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah! happy if each tear of thine Could wash a Father's fault away!

Weep--for thy tears are Virtue's tears-- Auspicious to these suffering Isles; And be each drop in future years Repaid thee by thy People's smiles!

_March_, 1812.

[MS. M. First published, _Morning Chronicle_, March 7, 1812 (Corsair, 1814, Second Edition).]

IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.[bl]

1.

If sometimes in the haunts of men Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow un.o.bserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before.

2.

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile I waste one thought I owe to thee, And self-condemned, appear to smile, Unfaithful to thy memory: Nor deem that memory less dear, That then I seem not to repine; I would not fools should overhear One sigh that should be wholly _thine_.

3.

If not the Goblet pa.s.s unquaffed, It is not drained to banish care; The cup must hold a deadlier draught That brings a Lethe for despair.

And could Oblivion set my soul From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl That drowned a single thought of thee.

4.

For wert thou vanished from my mind, Where could my vacant bosom turn?

And who would then remain behind To honour thine abandoned Urn?

No, no--it is my sorrow's pride That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside, 'Tis meet that I remember still.

5.

For well I know, that such had been Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene, Where none regarded him, but thou: And, oh! I feel in _that_ was given A blessing never meant for me; Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven, For earthly Love to merit thee.

March 14, 1812.

[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition).]

ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN.[36]

1.

Ill-fated Heart! and can it be, That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain?

Have years of care for thine and thee Alike been all employed in vain?

2.

Yet precious seems each shattered part, And every fragment dearer grown, Since he who wears thee feels thou art A fitter emblem of _his own_.

March 16, 1812.

[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812 (Second Edition).]

THE CHAIN I GAVE.

FROM THE TURKISH.

1.

The chain I gave was fair to view, The lute I added sweet in sound; The heart that offered both was true, And ill deserved the fate it found.

2.

These gifts were charmed by secret spell, Thy truth in absence to divine; And they have done their duty well,-- Alas! they could not teach thee thine.

3.

That chain was firm in every link, But not to bear a stranger's touch; That lute was sweet--till thou couldst think In other hands its notes were such.

4.

Let him who from thy neck unbound The chain which s.h.i.+vered in his grasp, Who saw that lute refuse to sound, Restring the chords, renew the clasp.

5.