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He must move on-
Love brooks not a degraded throne.
Wait not, fond lover!
Till years are over,
As from a dream.
All hideous seem―
Love's reign is finish'd—
Then part in friendship,—and bid good-night.*
So shall Affection
The dear connection
Bring back with joy:
You had not waited
The same fond faces
As through the past:
And eyes, the mirrors
your sweet errors,
Reflect but rapture-not least though last.
4 [V. L.-"One last embrace, then, and bid good night."]
Ask more than patience;
From such have risen!
Beat 'gainst their prison?
Time can but cloy love
Though sharper, shorter,
To wean, and not wear out your joys.
ON MY WEDDING-DAY.
HERE's a happy new year! but with reason
EPITAPH FOR WILLIAM PITT.
WITH death doom'd to grapple,
Beneath this cold slab, he Who lied in the Chapel
Now lies in the Abbey.
January 2, 1820.
IN digging up your bones, Tom Paine,
You visit him on earth again,
He'll visit you in hell.
WHEN a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,
To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan,
Then battle for freedom wherever you can,
And, if not shot or hang'd, you'll get knighted.
6 ["Pray let not these versiculi go forth with my name, except among the initiated, because my friend Hobhouse has foamed into a reformer, and, I greatly fear, will subside into Newgate."-Lord B. to Mr. Moore.]
THE CHARITY BALL.
WHAT matter the pangs of a husband and father,
What matters-a heart which, though faulty, was feeling,
ON THE BRAZIERS' COMPANY HAVING RESOLVED TO PRESENT AN
THE braziers, it seems, are preparing to pass
An address, and present it themselves all in brass;—
EPIGRAM ON MY WEDDING-DAY.
THIS day, of all our days, has done
'Tis just six years since we were one,
January 2, 1821.
7 [These lines were written on reading in the newspapers, that Lady Byron had been patroness of a ball in aid of some charity at Hinckley.]
8 ["There is an epigram for you, is it not ?-worthy
Of Wordsworth, the grand metaquizzical poet,
A man of vast merit, though few people know it;
The perusal of whom (as I told you at Mestri)
owe, in great part, to my passion for pastry."
B. Letters, January 22, 1821.
The procession of the Braziers to Brandenburgh House was one of the fooleries at the time of Queen Caroline's trial.]
ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY.
JANUARY 22, 1821.9
THROUGH life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
MARTIAL, LIB. I., Epig. I.
"Hic est, quem legis, ille, quem requiris,
HE, unto whom thou art so partial,
Oh, reader! is the well-known Martial,
BOWLES AND CAMPBELL.
To the tune of "Why, how now, saucy jade?"
WHY, how now, saucy Tom?
If you thus must ramble,
I will publish some
Remarks on Mister Campbell.
9 [In Lord Byron's MS. Diary of the preceding day, we find the following entry "To-morrow is my birthday—that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight; i. e. in twelve minutes I shall have completed thirty and three years of age!!! and I go to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose. It is three minutes past twelve-"'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,' and am now thirty-three !—
'Eheu, fugaces, Posthume, Posthume,
but I don't regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have done."]