II Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again. III Then the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is where the ice appears. IV Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath. V Oh, could I feel as I have felt, - scene; or be what I have been, wept, o'er many a vanished As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me. NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL This poem was written in London in 1815, soon after the battle of Waterloo. It is one of several productions concerned with Napoleon," the great Emperor who with the great poet divided the wonder of Europe." The anapæstic meter employed in this and several other of Byron's most popular poems is one that lends itself easily to spirited effects. It was a great favorite with Tom Moore, whose influence is clearly seen both here and elsewhere, as in the Stanzas for Music and Stanzas written between Florence and Pisa. I AREWELL to the Land where the gloom of my Glory FARI Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name She abandons me now - but the page of her story, I have warred with a World which vanquished me only I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely, II Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me, But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted In strife with the storm, when their battles were won III Farewell to thee, France! but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me then, The Violet1 still grows in the depth of thy valleys; And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice! STANZAS FOR MUSIC (Written in England, March, 1816) THE I HERE be none of Beauty's daughters And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: The waves lie still and gleaming, II And the Midnight Moon is weaving So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 1 The violet: when Napoleon was banished to Elba, in April, 1814, it was predicted by his partisans that he would return to France with the violets in the following spring. For this reason the violet was taken as the Napoleonic emblem. Now, though defeated and exiled, Napoleon is represented in the poem as hoping to return from St. Helena, as he did from Elba. FARE THEE WELL The sincerity of this poem, which was written in March, 1816, soon after the separation from Lady Byron and shortly before the poet's final departure from England, has been seriously questioned. It seems almost incredible that any man, even one so spectacular as Byron, could lay bare to the world such emotions. Yet, according to Byron, as quoted by Moore, the verses were written under stress of profound feeling, were not intended for publication, and were given to the public only" through the injudicious zeal of a friend whom he suffered to take a copy." Alas! they had been friends in youth; But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining- But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, The marks of that which once hath been. - COLERIDGE's Christabel ARE thee well! and if forever, FARI Still forever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Where thy head so oft hath lain, Though the world for this commend thee- Even its praises must offend thee, Though my many faults defaced me, Than the one which once embraced me, Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not- Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; Is Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live - but every morrow Wake us from a widowed bed. And when thou would'st solace gather When our child's first accents flow Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!" Though his care she must forego? Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee— Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble All my faults perchance thou knowest - 20 30 40 |