The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I here thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met

In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

1808

TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. FEW years have past since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity

Preserved our feelings long the same.
But now, like me, too well thou know's
What trifles of the heart recall;
And those who once have loved thee most
Too soon forget they loved at all.

And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign.
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.

It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's control,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul.
Ab, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.
Not so in Man's maturer years,
When Man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears.
And all must love and hate by rule.
With fools in kindred vice the same,

We learn at length our faults to blend; And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend.

Such is the common lot of man:

Can we then 'scape from folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be?

No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been,
Man and the world so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.

Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halis, The welcome vices kindly greet.) Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add One insect to the fluttering crow And still thy trifling heart is glad

To join the vain, and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair to fair, Still simpering on with eager haste, As flies along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.

But say, what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapours move.

To flit along from dame to dame,

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?

What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,

For friendship every fool may share?

In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be seen;

No more so idly pass along:

Be something, any thing, but-mean.

1808.

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM

A SKULL.

START not-nor deem my spirit fled:

In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows never dull.

I lived, I lov'd, I quaffed like thee:
I died: let earth my bones resign:
Fill up thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape,

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood;
And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of gods, than reptile's food.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst: another race,
When thou and thine, like me, are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Why no-since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce?
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808.

467

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.*

WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Written after he had been invited to dine at the residence of Mary Chaworth the obiect of his early affection ther married to Mr Musters.

Thy husband's blest--and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot.
But let them pass-Oh! how my heart
Would hate him, if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs,
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,
And they were all to love and me.

Mary, adieu! I must away;

While thou art blest I'll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all,-save hope,-the same.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look;
But now to tremble were a crime-

We met, and not a nerve was shook.

I saw thee gaze upon my face,

Yet meet with no confusion there:
One only feeling could'st thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.

Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake:
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart, be still, or break.

November 2, 1808.

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A
NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.

WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth.
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.

When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been ;
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul be held on earth:

While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shawe.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one,-and here he lies.

Newstead Abbey, November 30, 1808

TO A LADY,

(MRS MUSTERS.)

ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND IN THE SPRING
WHEN Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,
And bade him curse his future fate.

But, wandering on through distant climes.
He learnt to bear his load of grief;

Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes relief.

Thus, lady! will it be with me,

And I must view thy charms no more;

For, while I linger near to thee,

I sigh for all I knew before.

In flight I shall be surely wise,

Escaping from temptation's snare ;

I cannot view my paradise

Without a wish to enter there.

December 2, 1808.

REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT,

REMIND me not, remind me not,

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;

Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move?