The Works of Lord Byron Volume I Part 61

My Lycus! [3] wherefore dost thou weep?

Thy falling tears restrain; Affection for a time may sleep, But, oh, 'twill wake again.

Think, think, my friend, when next we meet, Our long-wished interview, how sweet!

From this my hope of rapture springs; While youthful hearts thus fondly swell, Absence my friend, can only tell, "Friends.h.i.+p is Love without his wings!"

7.

In one, and one alone deceiv'd, Did I my error mourn?

No--from oppressive bonds reliev'd, I left the wretch to scorn.

I turn'd to those my childhood knew, With feelings warm, with bosoms true, Twin'd with my heart's according strings; And till those vital chords shall break, For none but these my breast shall wake Friends.h.i.+p, the power deprived of wings!

8

Ye few! my soul, my life is yours, My memory and my hope; Your worth a lasting love insures, Unfetter'd in its scope; From smooth deceit and terror sprung, With aspect fair and honey'd tongue, Let Adulation wait on kings; With joy elate, by snares beset, We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget, "Friends.h.i.+p is Love without his wings!"

9

Fictions and dreams inspire the bard, Who rolls the epic song; Friends.h.i.+p and truth be my reward-- To me no bays belong; If laurell'd Fame but dwells with lies, Me the enchantress ever flies, Whose heart and not whose fancy sings; Simple and young, I dare not feign; Mine be the rude yet heartfelt strain, "Friends.h.i.+p is Love without his wings!"

December 29, 1806. [First published, 1832.]

[Footnote 1: The MS. is preserved at Newstead.]

[Footnote 2: Harrow.]

[Footnote 3: Lord Clare had written to Byron,

"I think by your last letter that you are very much piqued with most of your friends, and, if I am not much mistaken, a little so with me.

In one part you say,

'There is little or no doubt a few years or months will render us as politely indifferent to each other, as if we had never pa.s.sed a portion of our time together.'

Indeed, Byron, you wrong me; and I have no doubt, at least I hope, you are wrong yourself."

'Life', p. 25.]

THE PRAYER OF NATURE. [1]

1

Father of Light! great G.o.d of Heaven!

Hear'st thou the accents of despair?

Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?

Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?

2

Father of Light, on thee I call!

Thou see'st my soul is dark within; Thou, who canst mark the sparrow's fall, Avert from me the death of sin.

3

No shrine I seek, to sects unknown; Oh, point to me the path of truth!

Thy dread Omnipotence I own; Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth.

4

Let bigots rear a gloomy fane, Let Superst.i.tion hail the pile, Let priests, to spread their sable reign, With tales of mystic rites beguile.

5

Shall man confine his Maker's sway To Gothic domes of mouldering stone?

Thy temple is the face of day; Earth, Ocean, Heaven thy boundless throne.

6

Shall man condemn his race to h.e.l.l, Unless they bend in pompous form?

Tell us that all, for one who fell, Must perish in the mingling storm?

7

Shall each pretend to reach the skies, Yet doom his brother to expire, Whose soul a different hope supplies, Or doctrines less severe inspire?