soft brow,

Nor deem me too happy in this; If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile,

Oh, think not my penance deficient ! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,

To awake will be torture sufficient.

TO MARY

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE

[The 'Mary' of this poem is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or 'Mary' of Aberdeen.]

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms, Though strong as mortal art could give,

My constant heart of fear disarms,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold
Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheeks which sprung from beauty's
mould,

The lips which made me beauty's slave.

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye, Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue;

But where's the beam so sweetly straying,

Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul,

Unconscious that her image there
Held every sense in fast control.

time, 't will cheer;

My hope in gloomy moments raise; In life's last conflict 't will appear, And meet my fond expiring gaze.

TO LESBIA

[The Lesbia of this poem is Julia Leacroft.] LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged, Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say 't is I, not you, have changed, I'd tell you why, but yet I know not. Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; And, Lesbia! we are not much older, Since, trembling, first my heart I lost, Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. Sixteen was then our utmost age,

Two years have lingering past away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage, At least I feel disposed to stray, love!

"T is I that am alone to blame,

I, that am guilty of love's treason; Since your sweet breast is still the same, Caprice must be my only reason.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

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29

[Moore applies these lines to Byron himself: E. H. Coleridge with more probability regards them as a satirical sketch of some acquaintance.]

IN law an infant and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy;
From every sense of shame and virtue
wean'd;

In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
Versed in hypocrisy while yet a child;
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;
Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;
Old in the world, though scarcely broke
from school;

Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin.

Even still conflicting passions shake his sou And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure' bowl;

But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his forme chain,

And what was once his bliss appears hi

bane.

TO MARION

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10

[To Harriet Maltby, who was cold, silent and reserved' on meeting the poet.] MARION, why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air; Frowns become not one so fair. "T is not love disturbs thy rest, Love's a stranger to thy breast; He in dimpling smiles appears, Or mourns in sweetly timid tears, Or bends the languid eyelid down, But shuns the cold forbidding frown. Then resume thy former fire, Some will love, and all admire; While that icy aspect chills us, Nought but cool indifference thrills us. Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile, Smile at least, or seem to smile. Eyes like thine were never meant To hide their orbs in dark restraint; Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, Still in truant beams they play. Thy lips but here my modest Muse Her impulse chaste must needs refuse: She blushes, curt'sies, frowns in short she Dreads lest the subject should transport

me;

And flying off in search of reason, Brings prudence back in proper season. All I shall therefore say (whate'er

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I think, is neither here nor there)
Is, that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form'd for better things than sneer-

This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing
To those who think remonstrance teasing,
At once I'll tell thee our opinion
Concerning woman's soft dominion:
Howe'er we gaze with admiration
On eyes of blue or lips carnation,
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties may distract us,
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love:
It is not too severe a stricture
To say they form a pretty picture;
But wouldst thou see the secret chain
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail you queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 't is ANIMATION.
January 10, 1807.

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50

Had changed the place of declaration.
In Italy I've no objection,

Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
There we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than placed in all th' Arcadian groves
That ever witness'd rural loves;
Then, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I'll be content to freeze;
No more I'll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate for ever after.

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40

TO A LADY

WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OF HAIR BRAIDED WITH HIS OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGHT IN DECEMBER TO MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN

[This poem is addressed to the 'Mary' of the lines beginning, 'This faint resemblance of thy charms.']

ΤΟ

THESE locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine
Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've proved it,
Nor time, nor place, nor art have moved it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine,
With silly whims and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish ?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent
(Since Shakspeare set the precedent,
Since Juliet first declared her passion),
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;

Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain,
He surely, in commiseration,

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OSCAR OF ALVA

A TALE

['The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of Jeronymo and Lorenzo, in the first volume of Schiller's Armenian, or the Ghost-Seer. It also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of Macbeth.' - BYRON, Note.]

How sweetly shines through azure skies, The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,

And hear the din of arms no more.

But often has yon rolling moon

On Alva's casques of silver play'd; And view'd, at midnight's silent noon, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd: And on the crimson'd rocks beneath, Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, She saw the gasping warrior low;

While many an eye which ne'er again
Could mark the rising orb of day,
Turn'd feebly from the gory plain,
Beheld in death her fading ray.

Once to those eyes the lamp of Love,
They blest her dear propitious light;
But now she glimmer'd from above,
A sad, funereal torch of night.

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20

We hence may meet, and pass each other by,
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, 101
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe,
With thee no more again I hope to trace
The recollection of our early race;
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice,
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known
voice.

Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught
To veil those feelings which perchance it
ought,

If these,

but let me cease the lengthen'd