On Rural Sports Oh! since thy angel form is gone, This tiresome round of palling pleasures, But now I seek for other joys; To think would drive my soul to madness: Yet even in these a thought will steal, In spite of every vain endeavour; And fiends might pity what I feel, To know that thou art lost for ever. LORD BYRON. ΤΟ WELL! thou art happy, and I feel Thy husband's bless'd-and 'twill impart I thought my jealous heart would break, I kiss'd it—and repress'd my sighs, Mary, adieu! I must away, While thou art bless'd I'll not repine! But near thee I can never stay, My heart would soon again be thine. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride Had quench'd at length my boyish flame, Nor knew, till seated by thy side, My heart in all,-save hope, the same. Yet was I calm: I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look, But now to tremble were a crime; We met and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there; One only feeling couldst thou trace, The sullen calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream! My foolish heart, be still or break. LORD BYRON. STANZAS TO *** ON LEAVING ENGLAND. 'Tis done and shivering in the gale But could I be what I have been, 'Tis long since I beheld that eye As some lone bird without a mate, And I will cross the whitening foam, The poorest veriest wretch on earth I go but wheresoe'er I flee To think of every early scene, Of what we are, and what we've been, Would whelm some softer hearts with woe; But mine, alas! has stood the blow; Yet still beats on as it begun, And never truly loves but one. |