ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
"Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes, it howls in thy empty court."
THROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds.
whistle;
Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the way.
Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who proudly to battle
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurell'd wreath
Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistant slumbers,
Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death.
Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell
My fathers! the tears of your country redress ye;
How you fought, how you died, still her annals can tell.
On Marston, with Rupert,§ 'gainst traitors contending,
Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd.
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.
* The motto was added in the first edition of Hours of Idleness.
+ Horistan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byron family. The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.
Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II.
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
"T is nature, not fear, that excites his regret ;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget.
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;
He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown;
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish ;
When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own.
ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE, AND SCHOOL OF HARROW ON THE HILL.*
Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.- VIRGIL.
YE scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection
Embitters the present, compared with the past;
Where science first dawned on the powers of reflection,
And friendships were form'd too romantic to last;
Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance
Of comrades in friendship and mischief allied;
How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrance,
Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied.
Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
The streams where we swam, and the fields where we
fought;
The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught.
Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd,
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;
Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd,
To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.
I once more view the room with spectators surrounded,
Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown;
While to swell my young pride such applauses resounded,
I fancied that Mossopt himself was outshone:
This poem was printed in the private volume, and in the first edition of Hours of idleness, where the motto from Virgil was added. It was afterwards omitted.
+ Mossop, a cotemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of Zanga, in Young's tragedy of the Revenge.
Or, as Lear, I poured forth the deep imprecation,
By my daughters of kingdom and reason deprived ;
Till, fired by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
I regarded myself as a Garrick revived.
Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast ;*
Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you;
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
To Ida † full oft may remembrance restore me,
While fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
Since darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul.
But if, through the course of the years which await me,
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
"Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew."
IN thee I fondly hoped to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever,
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forced thee from my breast,
Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat;
There, there thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
"Your memory beams through this agonized breast."
"I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madness,
Of tears, as of reason, for ever was drain'd;
But the drops which now flow down this bosom of sadness,
Convince me the springs have some moisture retain'd.
"Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection
Has wrung from these eyelids, to weeping long dead,
In torrents the tears of my warmest affection,
The last and the fondest I ever shall shed."
Printed in the private volume only.
And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I'll lay my head
Without thee, where would be my heaven?
“ 'Αστὴρ πρὶν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνὶ ζωοῖσιν έφος.”Laertius.
Он, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear,t
What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath,
Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight.
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh‡
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statutes there are seen to weep;
These lines were printed in the private volume, the title being "Epitaph on a beloved Friend." The motto was added in the first edition of Hours of Idleness.
"Oh, Boy! for ever loved, for ever dear."- Privute volume.
"Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born,
No titles did thy humble name adorn;
To me far dearer was thy artless love
Than all the joys wealth, fame and friends could prove:
For thee alone I lived, or wish'd to live;
Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive!
Heart-broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb;
Where, this frail form composed in endless rest,
I'll make my last cold pillow on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life I've laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead;
This life resign'd, without one parting sigh,
Together in one bed of earth we'll lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given,
Together mix our dust, and hope for heaven."
Such was the conclusion in the private volume.
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