The Works of Lord Byron Volume IV Part 96

[_Opere Edite e Postume_ di J. Vittorelli, Ba.s.sano, 1841, p. 294.]

TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI.

ON A NUN.

Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil.

Of two fair virgins, modest, though admired, Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires, Heaven for a n.o.bler doom their worth desires, And gazing upon _either, both_ required.

Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired Becomes extinguished,--soon--too soon expires; But thine, within the closing grate retired, Eternal captive, to her G.o.d aspires.

But _thou_ at least from out the jealous door, Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more:

I to the marble, where _my_ daughter lies, Rush,--the swoln flood of bitterness I pour, And knock, and knock, and knock--but none replies.

[First published, _Childe Harold_, Canto IV., 1818.]

ON THE BUST OF HELEN BY CANOVA.[576]

In this beloved marble view Above the works and thoughts of Man, What Nature _could_ but _would not_ do, And Beauty and Canova _can!_ Beyond Imagination's power, Beyond the Bard's defeated art, With Immortality her dower, Behold the _Helen_ of the heart.

_November_ 23, 1816.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 61.]

VENICE. A FRAGMENT.[577]

'Tis midnight--but it is not dark Within thy s.p.a.cious place, St. Mark!

The Lights within, the Lamps without, s.h.i.+ne above the revel rout.

The brazen Steeds are glittering o'er The holy building's ma.s.sy door, Glittering with their collars of gold, The goodly work of the days of old-- And the winged Lion stern and solemn Frowns from the height of his h.o.a.ry column, Facing the palace in which doth lodge The ocean-city's dreaded Doge.

The palace is proud--but near it lies, Divided by the "Bridge of Sighs,"

The dreary dwelling where the State Enchains the captives of their hate: These--they perish or they pine; But which their doom may none divine: Many have pa.s.sed that Arch of pain, But none retraced their steps again.

It is a princely colonnade!

And wrought around a princely place, When that vast edifice displayed Looks with its venerable face Over the far and subject sea, Which makes the fearless isles so free!

And 'tis a strange and n.o.ble pile, Pillared into many an aisle: Every pillar fair to see, Marble--jasper--and porphyry-- The Church of St. Mark--which stands hard by With fretted pinnacles on high, And Cupola and minaret; More like the mosque of orient lands, Than the fanes wherein we pray, And Mary's blessed likeness stands.--

Venice, _December_ 6, 1816.

SO WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING.[578]

1.

So we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright.

2.

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And Love itself have rest.

3.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

_Feb_. 28, 1817.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 79.]

[LORD BYRON'S VERSES ON SAM ROGERS.][579]

QUESTION.

Nose and Chin that make a knocker,[hx]

Wrinkles that would puzzle c.o.c.ker; Mouth that marks the envious Scorner, With a Scorpion in each corner Curling up his tail to sting you,[hy]

In the place that most may wring you; Eyes of lead-like hue and gummy, Carcase stolen from some mummy, Bowels--(but they were forgotten, Save the Liver, and that's rotten), 10 Skin all sallow, flesh all sodden, Form the Devil would frighten G--d in.

Is't a Corpse stuck up for show,[580]

Galvanized at times to go?

With the Scripture has't connection,[hz]

New proof of the Resurrection?

Vampire, Ghost, or Goul (_sic_), what is it?

I would walk ten miles to miss it.

ANSWER.

Many pa.s.sengers arrest one, To demand the same free question. 20 Shorter's my reply and franker,-- That's the Bard, and Beau, and Banker: Yet, if you could bring about Just to turn him inside out, Satan's self would seem less sooty, And his present aspect--Beauty.

Mark that (as he masks the bilious) Air so softly supercilious, Chastened bow, and mock humility, Almost sickened to Servility: 30 Hear his tone (which is to talking That which creeping is to walking-- Now on all fours, now on tiptoe): Hear the tales he lends his lip to-- Little hints of heavy scandals-- Every friend by turns he handles: All that women or that men do Glides forth in an inuendo (_sic_)-- Clothed in odds and ends of humour, Herald of each paltry rumour-- 40 From divorces down to dresses, Woman's frailties, Man's excesses: All that life presents of evil Make for him a constant revel.

You're his foe--for that he fears you, And in absence blasts and sears you: You're his friend--for that he hates you, First obliges, and then baits you, Darting on the opportunity When to do it with impunity: 50 You are neither--then he'll flatter, Till he finds some trait for satire; Hunts your weak point out, then shows it, Where it injures, to expose it In the mode that's most insidious, Adding every trait that's hideous-- From the bile, whose blackening river Rushes through his Stygian liver.

Then he thinks himself a lover--[581]

Why? I really can't discover, 60 In his mind, age, face, or figure; Viper broth might give him vigour: Let him keep the cauldron steady, He the venom has already.

For his faults--he has but _one_; 'Tis but Envy, when all's done: He but pays the pain he suffers, Clipping, like a pair of Snuffers, Light that ought to burn the brighter For this temporary blighter. 70 He's the Cancer of his Species, And will eat himself to pieces,-- Plague personified and Famine,-- Devil, whose delight is d.a.m.ning.[582]

For his merits--don't you know 'em?[ia]

Once he wrote a pretty Poem.