« 이전계속 »
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of wo,
Not what he was, but what he should have been;
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 shame.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.
FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
But waft thy name beyond the sky. "Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell!
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
BRIGHT be the place of thy soul !
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine,
When we know that thy God is with thee.
Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be: There should not be the shadow of gloom, In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest?
WHEN We two parted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
They name thee before me,
A shudder comes o'er me-
In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.*
"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
"Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."
THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's
"Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
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
The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again.
*These Verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr. Power, Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson.