The Works of Lord Byron Volume IV Part 98

13.

'Tis vain to struggle--let me perish young-- Live as I lived, and love as I have loved; To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, And then, at least, my heart can ne'er be moved.

June, 1819.

[First published, _Conversations of Lord Byron_, 1824, 4, pp. 24-26.]

SONNET ON THE NUPTIALS OF THE MARQUIS ANTONIO CAVALLI WITH THE COUNTESS CLELIA RASPONI OF RAVENNA.[589]

A n.o.ble Lady of the Italian sh.o.r.e Lovely and young, herself a happy bride, Commands a verse, and will not be denied, From me a wandering Englishman; I tore One sonnet, but invoke the muse once more To hail these gentle hearts which Love has tied, In Youth, Birth, Beauty, genially allied And blest with Virtue's soul, and Fortune's store.

A sweeter language, and a luckier bard Were worthier of your hopes, Auspicious Pair!

And of the sanct.i.ty of Hymen's shrine, But,--since I cannot but obey the Fair, To render your new state your true reward, May your Fate be like _Hers_, and unlike _mine._

Ravenna, July 31, 1819.

[From an autograph MS. in the possession of the Lady Dorchester, now for the first time printed.]

SONNET TO THE PRINCE REGENT.[ig]

ON THE REPEAL OF LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD'S FORFEITURE.

To be the father of the fatherless, To stretch the hand from the throne's height, and raise _His_ offspring, who expired in other days To make thy Sire's sway by a kingdom less,--[ih]

_This_ is to be a monarch, and repress Envy into unutterable praise.

Dismiss thy guard, and trust thee to such traits, For who would lift a hand, except to bless?[ii]

Were it not easy, Sir, and is't not sweet To make thyself beloved? and to be Omnipotent by Mercy's means? for thus Thy Sovereignty would grow but more complete, A despot thou, and yet thy people free,[ij]

And by the heart--not hand--enslaving us.

Bologna, _August_ 12, 1819.[590]

[First published, _Letters and Journals,_ ii. 234, 235.]

STANZAS.[591]

1.

Could Love for ever Run like a river, And Time's endeavour Be tried in vain-- No other pleasure With this could measure; And like a treasure[ik]

We'd hug the chain.

But since our sighing Ends not in dying, And, formed for flying, Love plumes his wing; Then for this reason Let's love a season; But let that season be only Spring.

2.

When lovers parted Feel broken-hearted, And, all hopes thwarted, Expect to die; A few years older, Ah! how much colder They might behold her For whom they sigh!

When linked together, In every weather,[il]

They pluck Love's feather From out his wing-- He'll stay for ever,[im]

But sadly s.h.i.+ver Without his plumage, when past the Spring.[in]

3.

Like Chiefs of Faction, His life is action-- A formal paction That curbs his reign, Obscures his glory, Despot no more, he Such territory Quits with disdain.

Still, still advancing, With banners glancing, His power enhancing, He must move on-- Repose but cloys him, Retreat destroys him, Love brooks not a degraded throne.

4.

Wait not, fond lover!

Till years are over, And then recover As from a dream.

While each bewailing The other's failing.

With wrath and railing, All hideous seem-- While first decreasing, Yet not quite ceasing, Wait not till teasing, All pa.s.sion blight: If once diminished Love's reign is finished-- Then part in friends.h.i.+p,--and bid good-night.[io]

5.

So shall Affection To recollection The dear connection Bring back with joy: You had not waited[ip]

Till, tired or hated, Your pa.s.sions sated Began to cloy.

Your last embraces Leave no cold traces-- The same fond faces As through the past: And eyes, the mirrors Of your sweet errors, Reflect but rapture--not least though last.

6.

True, separations[iq]

Ask more than patience; What desperations From such have risen!

But yet remaining, What is't but chaining Hearts which, once waning, Beat 'gainst their prison?

Time can but cloy love, And use destroy love: The winged boy, Love, Is but for boys-- You'll find it torture Though sharper, shorter, To wean, and not wear out your joys.

_December_ 1, 1819.

[First published, _New Monthly Magazine_, 1832, vol. x.x.xv. pp. 310-312.]

ODE TO A LADY WHOSE LOVER WAS KILLED BY A BALL, WHICH AT THE SAME TIME s.h.i.+VERED A PORTRAIT NEXT HIS HEART.

Motto.

_On peut trouver des femmes qui n'ont jamais eu de galanterie, mais il est rare d'en trouver qui n'en aient jamais eu qu'une_.--[_Reflexions_ ... du Duc de la Rochefoucauld, No.

lxxiii.]

1.