TO A LADY. I. OH! had my Fate been join'd with thine,1 As once this pledge appear'd a token, These follies had not, then, been mine, For, then, my peace had not been broken. 2. To thee, these early faults I owe, To thee, the wise and old reproving: They know my sins, but do not know 'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. 3. For once my soul, like thine, was pure, And all its rising fires could smother; But, now, thy vows no more endure, Bestow'd by thee upon another. 4. Perhaps, his peace I could destroy, For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him. 5. Ah! since thy angel form is gone, My heart no more can rest with any; But what it sought in thee alone, Attempts, alas! to find in many. 6. Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid! "Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee; Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid, But Pride may teach me to forget thee. 1[These verses were addressed to Mrs Chaworth Musters. Byron wrote in 1822: "Our meetings were stolen ones. ... A gate leading from Mr Chaworth's grounds to those of my mother was the place of our interviews. The ardour was all on my side. I was serious; she was volatile: she liked me as a younger brother, and treated and laughed at me as a boy; she, however, gave me her picture, and that was something to make verses upon. Had I married her, perhaps the whole tenour of my life would have been different."-- Medwin's Conversations, 1824, p. 81.] As I felt, when a boy, on the cragcover'd wild: One image, alone, on my bosom impress'd, I lov'd my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd, And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you. This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been accustomed to the mountains. It is by no means uncommon, on attaining the top of Ben-e-vis, Ben-y-bourd, etc., to perceive, between the summit and the valley, clouds pouring down rain, and occasionally accompanied by htning, while the spectator literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure from its effects. [Byron, in early youth, was "unco' wastefu"" of Marys. There was his distant cousin, Mary Daf (afterwards Mrs Robert Cockburn), who and not far from the "Plain-Stanes" at Aberder. Her "brown, dark hair, and hazel eyes -her very dress," were long years after "a perfect image" in his memory (Life, p. 9). Secady there was the Mary of these stanzas, with long-flowing ringlets of gold," the "HighAnd Mary" of local tradition. She was (writes the Rev. J. Michie, of The Manse, Dinnet) the Gaughter of James Robertson, of the farmhouse of Badstrich on Deeside, where Byron used to head his summer holidays (1796-98). She was of gentle birth, and through her mother, the daughter of Captain Macdonald of Rineton, red her descent to the Lord of the Isles. "She dad at Aberdeen, March 2, 1867, aged eightyfive years." A third Mary (see "Lines to Mary." etc., p. 1) tits through the early poems, enescent but unspiritual. Last of all, there Was Mary Anne Chaworth, of Annesley (see "To a Lady." p. 64, "A Fragment," p. 72, etc.), F When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue, I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold, The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you. 6. Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow; But while these soar above me, unchang'd as before, Will Mary be there to receive me? ah, no! Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred! Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu! No home in the forest shall shelter my head, Ah! Mary, what home could be mine, but with you? [First published, 1808.] TO THE DUKE OF DORSET.1 DORSET! whose early steps with mine have stray'd, Exploring every path of Ida's glade; Whom, still, Affection taught me to defend, And made me less a tyrant than a friend, 1 In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the above lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed, in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from H[arrow]. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country: however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a re-perusal, I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision. [The foregoing note was prefixed to the poem in Poems Original and Translated. George John Frederick, 4th Duke of Dorset, born 1703, was killed by a fall from his horse when hunting, in 1815, while on a visit to his step-father the Earl of Whitworth, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.] 1["Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, was born in 1527. While a student of the Inner Temple, he wrote his tragedy of Gorboduc, which was played before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, in 1561. This tragedy, and his contribution of the Induction and legend of the Duke of Buckingham to the Mirrour for Magistraytes, compose the poetical history of Sackville. The rest of it was political. In 1604, he was created Earl of Dorset by James I. He died suddenly at the council-table, in consequence of a dropsy on the brain." - Specimens of the British Poets, by Thomas Campbell, London, 1819, ii. 134, sq.] 2 Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset [16371706], esteemed the most accomplished man of his day, was alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of William III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch in 1665; on the day previous to which he composed his celebrated song ["To all you Ladies now at Land"]. His character has been drawn in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreve. (Vide Anderson's British Poets (1793), vi. 107, 108.) |