ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

Ocean in sullen murmurs ebbs and flows, But thy bright beam unchanged for ever glows!

When Earth is darken'd with tempestuous skies,

When Thunder shakes the sphere and Lightning flies,

Thy face, O Sun, no rolling blasts deform,

Thou look'st from clouds and laughest at the Storm.

To Ossian, Orb of Light! thou look'st in vain,

Nor canst thou glad his agéd eyes again, Whether thy locks in Orient Beauty stream,

Or glimmer through the West with fainter gleam

But thou, perhaps, like me with age must bend;

Thy season o'er, thy days will find their

end,

No more yon azure vault with rays

adorn,

Lull'd in the clouds, nor hear the voice

of Morn.

Exult, O Sun, in all thy youthful strength!

Age, dark unlovely Age, appears at length,

As gleams the moonbeam through the broken cloud

While mountain vapours spread their misty shroud

The Northern tempest howls along at last,

And wayworn strangers shrink amid the blast.

Thou rolling Sun who gild'st those rising towers,

Fair didst thou shine upon my earlier hours!

I hail'd with smiles the cheering rays of Morn,

My breast by no tumultuous Passion

[blocks in formation]

Once bright, thy Silence lull'd my frame to rest,

And Sleep my soul with gentle visions blest;

Now wakeful Grief disdains her mild controul,

Dark is the night, but darker is my Soul. Ye warring Winds of Heav'n your fury urge,

To me congenial sounds your wintry Dirge:

Swift as your wings my happier days have past,

Keen as your storms is Sorrow's chilling blast;

To Tempests thus expos'd my Fate has been,

Piercing like yours, like yours, alas! 1805. [First published, 1898.]

unseen.

[PIGNUS AMORIS.]

I.

As by the fix'd decrees of Heaven,
'Tis vain to hope that Joy can last;
The dearest boon that Life has given,
To me is visions of the past.

2.

For these this toy of blushing hue

I prize with zeal before unknown, It tells me of a Friend I knew,

Who lov'd me for myself alone.

3.

It tells me what how few can say Though all the social tie commend; Recorded in my heart 'twill lay,1

It tells me mine was once a Friend.

4.

Through many a weary day gone by,
With time the gift is dearer grown;
And still I view in Memory's eye
That teardrop sparkle through my

own.

1[For the irregular use of "lay" for "lie," compare "The Adieu" (st. 10, l. 4, p. 82), and the much-disputed line, And dashest him again to earth there let him lay" (Childe Harold, Canto IV. st. clxxx.).]

[blocks in formation]

[A WOMAN'S HAIR.']

OH! little lock of golden hue

In gently waving ringlet curl'd, By the dear head on which you grew, I would not lose you for a world. Not though a thousand more adorn

The polish'd brow where once you shone,

Like rays which gild a cloudless morn Beneath Columbia's fervid zone. 1806.

[First published, 1832.]

[These lines are preserved in MS. at Newstead, with the following memorandum in Miss Pigot's handwriting: "Copied from the fly-leaf in a vol. of my Burns' books, which is written in pencil by himself." They have hitherto been printed as stanzas 5 and 6 of the lines "To a Lady," etc., p. 73.1

STANZAS TO JESSY.1

I.

THERE is a mystic thread of life

So dearly wreath'd with mine alone, That Destiny's relentless knife

At once must sever both, or none.

2.

There is a Form on which these eyes Have fondly gaz'd with such delight

By day, that Form their joy supplies, And Dreams restore it, through the night.

3.

There is a Voice whose tones inspire
Such soften'd feelings in my breast,
I would not hear a Seraph Choir,

Unless that voice could join the rest.

4.

There is a Face whose Blushes tell
Affection's tale upon the cheek,

But pallid at our fond farewell

Proclaims more love than words can speak.

5.

There is a Lip, which mine has prest,
But none had ever prest before;
It vowed to make me sweetly blest,
That mine alone should press it more.

6.

There is a Bosom all my own,

Has pillow'd oft this aching head, A Mouth which smiles on me alone, An Eve, whose tears with mine are shed.

1["Stanzas to Jessy" have often been printed, but were never acknowledged by Byron, or inIcluded in any authorised edition of his works. They are, however, unquestionably genuine. They appeared first in Monthly Literary Reereations (July, 1807), a magazine published by B. Crosby & Co., Stationers' Court. Crosby was London agent for Ridge, the Newark bookseller, and, with Longman and others, "sold" the recently issued Hours of Idleness. The lines are headed "Stanzas to Jessy," and are signed "George Gordon, Lord Byron." They were republished in 1824, by Knight and Lacy, and again in the same year by John Bumpus and A. Griffin, in their Miscellaneous Poems, etc.]

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »