A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
POETRY, VOLUME 1.
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE, M.A.
PREFACE TO THE POEMS.
The text of the present issue of Lord Byron's Poetical Works is based on that of 'The Works of Lord Byron', in six volumes, 12mo, which was published by John Murray in 1831. That edition followed the text of the successive issues of plays and poems which appeared in the author's lifetime, and were subject to his own revision, or that of Gifford and other accredited readers. A more or less thorough collation of the printed volumes with the MSS. which were at Moore's disposal, yielded a number of variorum readings which have appeared in subsequent editions published by John Murray. Fresh collations of the text of individual poems with the original MSS. have been made from time to time, with the result that the text of the latest edition (one-vol. 8vo, 1891) includes some emendations, and has been supplemented by additional variants. Textual errors of more or less importance, which had crept into the numerous editions which succeeded the seventeen-volume edition of 1832, were in some instances corrected, but in others passed over. For the purposes of the present edition the printed text has been collated with all the MSS. which passed through Moore's hands, and, also, for the first time, with MSS. of the following plays and poems, viz. 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'; 'Childe Harold', Canto IV.; 'Don Juan', Cantos VI.-XVI.; 'Werner'; 'The Deformed Transformed'; 'Lara'; 'Parisina'; 'The Prophecy of Dante'; 'The Vision of Judgment'; 'The Age of Bronze'; 'The Island'. The only works of any importance which have been printed directly from the text of the first edition, without reference to the MSS., are the following, which appeared in 'The Liberal' (1822-23), viz.: 'Heaven and Earth', 'The Blues', and 'Morgante Maggiore'.
A new and, it is believed, an improved punctuation has been adopted. In this respect Byron did not profess to prepare his MSS. for the press, and the punctuation, for which Gifford is mainly responsible, has been reconsidered with reference solely to the meaning and interpretation of the sentences as they occur.
In the 'Hours of Idleness and Other Early Poems', the typography of the first four editions, as a rule, has been preserved. A uniform typography in accordance with modern use has been adopted for all poems of later date. Variants, being the readings of one or more MSS. or of successive editions, are printed in italics [as footnotes. text Ed] immediately below the text. They are marked by Roman numerals. Words and lines through which the author has drawn his pen in the MSS. or Revises are marked 'MS. erased'.
Poems and plays are given, so far as possible, in chronological order. 'Childe Harold' and 'Don Juan', which were written and published in parts, are printed continuously; and minor poems, including the first four satires, have been arranged in groups according to the date of composition. Epigrams and 'jeux d'esprit' have been placed together, in chronological order, towards the end of the sixth volume. A Bibliography of the poems will immediately precede the Index at the close of the sixth volume.
The edition contains at least thirty hitherto unpublished poems, including fifteen stanzas of the unfinished seventeenth canto of 'Don Juan', and a considerable fragment of the third part of 'The Deformed Transformed'. The eleven unpublished poems from MSS. preserved at Newstead, which appear in the first volume, are of slight if any literary value, but they reflect with singular clearness and sincerity the temper and aspirations of the tumultuous and moody stripling to whom "the numbers came," but who wisely abstained from printing them himself.
Byron's notes, of which many are published for the first time, and editorial notes, enclosed in brackets, are printed immediately below the variorum readings. The editorial notes are designed solely to supply the reader with references to passages in other works illustrative of the text, or to interpret expressions and allusions which lapse of time may have rendered obscure.
Much of the knowledge requisite for this purpose is to be found in the articles of the 'Dictionary of National Biography', to which the fullest acknowledgments are due; and much has been arrived at after long research, involving a minute examination of the literature, the magazines, and often the newspapers of the period.
Inasmuch as the poems and plays have been before the public for more than three quarters of a century, it has not been thought necessary to burden the notes with the eulogies and apologies of the great poets and critics who were Byron's contemporaries, and regarded his writings, both for good and evil, for praise and blame, from a different standpoint from ours. Perhaps, even yet, the time has not come for a definite and positive appreciation of his genius. The tide of feeling and opinion must ebb and flow many times before his rank and station among the poets of all time will be finally adjudged. The splendour of his reputation, which dazzled his own countrymen, and, for the first time, attracted the attention of a contemporary European audience to an English writer, has faded, and belongs to history; but the poet's work remains, inviting a more intimate and a more extended scrutiny than it has hitherto received in this country. The reader who cares to make himself acquainted with the method of Byron's workmanship, to unravel his allusions, and to follow the tenour of his verse, will, it is hoped, find some assistance in these volumes.
I beg to record my especial thanks to the Earl of Lovelace for the use of MSS. of his grandfather's poems, including unpublished fragments; for permission to reproduce portraits in his possession; and for valuable information and direction in the construction of some of the notes.
My grateful acknowledgments are due to Dr. Garnett, C.B., Dr. A. H. Murray, Mr. R. E. Graves, and other officials of the British Museum, for invaluable assistance in preparing the notes, and in compiling a bibliography of the poems.
I have also to thank Mr. Leslie Stephen and others for important hints and suggestions with regard to the interpretation of some obscure passages in 'Hints from Horace'.
In correcting the proofs for the press, I have had the advantage of the skill and knowledge of my friend Mr. Frank E. Taylor, of Chertsey, to whom my thanks are due.
On behalf of the Publisher, I beg to acknowledge with gratitude the kindness of the Lady Dorchester, the Earl Stanhope, Lord Glenesk and Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B., for permission to examine MSS. in their possession; and of Mrs. Chaworth Musters, for permission to reproduce her miniature of Miss Chaworth, and for other favours. He desires also to acknowledge the generous assistance of Mr. and Miss Webb, of Newstead Abbey, in permitting the publication of MS. poems, and in making transcripts for the press.
I need hardly add that, throughout the progress of the work, the advice and direct assistance of Mr. John Murray and Mr. R. E. Prothero have been always within my reach. They have my cordial thanks.
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
[facsimile of title page:]
POEMS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS.
Virginibus Puerisque Canto.
(Hor. Lib, 3. 'Ode 1'.)
The only Apology necessary to be adduced, in extenuation of any errors in the following collection, is, that the Author has not yet completed his nineteenth year.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE TO 'HOURS OF IDLENESS AND OTHER EARLY POEMS'.
There were four distinct issues of Byron's Juvenilia. The first collection, entitled 'Fugitive Pieces', was printed in quarto by S. and J. Ridge of Newark. Two of the poems, "The Tear" and the "Reply to Some Verses of J. M. B. Pigot, Esq.," were signed "BYRON;" but the volume itself, which is without a title-page, was anonymous. It numbers sixty-six pages, and consists of thirty-eight distinct pieces. The last piece, "Imitated from Catullus. To Anna," is dated November 16, 1806. The whole of this issue, with the exception of two or three copies, was destroyed. An imperfect copy, lacking pp. 17-20 and pp. 58-66, is preserved at Newstead. A perfect copy, which had been retained by the Rev. J. T. Becher, at whose instance the issue was suppressed, was preserved by his family (see 'Life', by Karl Elze, 1872, p. 450), and is now in the possession of Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C.B. A facsimile reprint of this unique volume, limited to one hundred copies, was issued, for private circulation only, from the Chiswick Press in 1886.
Of the thirty-eight 'Fugitive Pieces', two poems, viz. "To Caroline" and "To Mary," together with the last six stanzas of the lines, "To Miss E. P. [To Eliza]," have never been republished in any edition of Byron's Poetical Works.
A second edition, small octavo, of 'Fugitive Pieces', entitled 'Poems on Various Occasions', was printed by S. and J. Ridge of Newark, and distributed in January, 1807. This volume was issued anonymously. It numbers 144 pages, and consists of a reproduction of thirty-six 'Fugitive Pieces', and of twelve hitherto unprinted poems—forty-eight in all. For references to the distribution of this issue—limited, says Moore, to one hundred copies—see letters to Mr. Pigot and the Earl of Clare, dated January 16, February 6, 1807, and undated letters of the same period to Mr. William Bankes and Mr. Falkner ('Life', pp. 41, 42). The annotated copy of 'Poems on Various Occasions', referred to in the present edition, is in the British Museum.
Early in the summer (June—July) of 1807, a volume, small octavo, named 'Hours of Idleness'—a title henceforth associated with Byron's early poems—was printed and published by S. and J. Ridge of Newark, and was sold by the following London booksellers: Crosby and Co.; Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme; F. and C. Rivington; and J, Mawman. The full title is, 'Hours of Idleness; a Series of Poems Original and Translated'. By George Gordon, Lord Byron, a Minor. It numbers 187 pages, and consists of thirty-nine poems. Of these, nineteen belonged to the original 'Fugitive Pieces', eight had first appeared in 'Poems on Various Occasions', and twelve were published for the first time. The "Fragment of a Translation from the 9th Book of Virgil's AEneid" ('sic'), numbering sixteen lines, reappears as "The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus, A Paraphrase from the AEneid, Lib. 9," numbering 406 lines.
The final collection, also in small octavo, bearing the title 'Poems Original and Translated', by George Gordon, Lord Byron, second edition, was printed and published in 1808 by S. and J. Ridge of Newark, and sold by the same London booksellers as 'Hours of Idleness'. It numbers 174 pages, and consists of seventeen of the original 'Fugitive Pieces', four of those first published in 'Poems on Various Occasions', a reprint of the twelve poems first published in 'Hours of Idleness', and five poems which now appeared for the first time—thirty-eight poems in all. Neither the title nor the contents of this so-called second edition corresponds exactly with the previous issue.
Of the thirty-eight 'Fugitive Pieces' which constitute the suppressed quarto, only seventeen appear in all three subsequent issues. Of the twelve additions to 'Poems on Various Occasions', four were excluded from 'Hours of Idleness', and four more from 'Poems Original and Translated'.
The collection of minor poems entitled 'Hours of Idleness', which has been included in every edition of Byron's Poetical Works issued by John Murray since 1831, consists of seventy pieces, being the aggregate of the poems published in the three issues, 'Poems on Various Occasions', 'Hours of Idleness', and 'Poems Original and Translated', together with five other poems of the same period derived from other sources.
In the present issue a general heading, "Hours of Idleness, and other Early Poems," has been applied to the entire collection of Early Poems, 1802-1809. The quarto has been reprinted (excepting the lines "To Mary," which Byron himself deliberately suppressed) in its entirety, and in the original order. The successive additions to the 'Poems on Various Occasions', 'Hours of Idleness', and 'Poems Original and Translated', follow in order of publication. The remainder of the series, viz. poems first published in Moore's 'Life and Journals of Lord Byron' (1830); poems hitherto unpublished; poems first published in the 'Works of Lord Byron' (1832), and poems contributed to J. C. Hobhouse's 'Imitations and Translations' (1809), have been arranged in chronological order. (For an important contribution to the bibliography of the quarto of 1806, and of the other issues of Byron's Juvenilia, see papers by Mr. R. Edgcumbe, Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C.B., and others, in the 'Athenaeum', 1885, vol. ii. pp. 731-733, 769; and 1886, vol. i. p. 101, etc. For a collation of the contents of the four first issues and of certain large-paper copies of 'Hours of Idleness', etc., see 'The Bibliography of the Poetical Works of Lord Byron', vol. vi. of the present edition.)
[text of facsimile pages of two different editions mentioned above:]
HOURS OF IDLENESS,
A SERIES OF POEMS, ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED,
BY GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON,
[Greek: Maet ar me mal ainee maete ti neichei.]
HOMER. Iliad, 10.
Virginibus puerisque Canto.
He whistled as he went for want of thought.
Printed and sold by S. and J. RIDGE;
SOLD ALSO BY B CROSBY AND CO. STATIONER'S COURT; LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW; F. AND C. RIVINGTON, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD; AND J. MAWMAN, IN THE POULTRY; LONDON. 1807
POEMS ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED BY GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON,
[Greek: Maet ar me mal ainee maete ti neichei.]
HOMER, Iliad, 10.
He whistled as he went for want of thought.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE TO ENGLISH BARDS, AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS.
The MS. ('MS. M.') of the first draft of Byron's "Satire" (see Letter to Pigot, October 26, 1807) is now in Mr. Murray's possession. It is written on folio sheets paged 6-25, 28-41, and numbers 360 lines. Mutilations on pages 12, 13, 34, 35 account for the absence of ten additional lines.
After the publication of the January number of 'The Edinburgh Review' for 1808 (containing the critique on 'Hours of Idleness'), which was delayed till the end of February, Byron added a beginning and an ending to the original draft. The MSS. of these additions, which number ninety lines, are written on quarto sheets, and have been bound up with the folios. (Lines 1-16 are missing.) The poem, which with these and other additions had run up to 560 lines, was printed in book form (probably by Ridge of Newark), under the title of 'British Bards, A Satire'. "This Poem," writes Byron ['MSS. M.'], "was begun in October, 1807, in London, and at different intervals composed from that period till September, 1808, when it was completed at Newstead Abbey.—B., 1808." A date, 1808, is affixed to the last line. Only one copy is extant, that which was purchased, in 1867, from the executors of R.C. Dallas, by the Trustees of the British Museum. Even this copy has been mutilated. Pages 17, 18, which must have contained the first version of the attack on Jeffrey (see 'English Bards', p. 332, line 439, 'note' 2), have been torn out, and quarto proof-sheets in smaller type of lines 438-527, "Hail to immortal Jeffrey," etc., together with a quarto proof-sheet, in the same type as 'British Bards', containing lines 540-559, "Illustrious Holland," etc., have been inserted. Hobhouse's lines (first edition, lines 247-262), which are not in the original draft, are included in 'British Bards'. The insertion of the proofs increased the printed matter to 584 lines. After the completion of this revised version of 'British Bards', additions continued to be made. Marginal corrections and MS. fragments, bound up with 'British Bards', together with forty-four lines (lines 723-726, 819-858) which do not occur in MS. M., make up with the printed matter the 696 lines which were published in March, 1809, under the title of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'. The folio and quarto sheets in Mr. Murray's possession ('MS. M.') may be regarded as the MS. of 'British Bards; British Bards' (there are a few alterations, e.g. the substitution of lines 319-326, "Moravians, arise," etc., for the eight lines on Pratt, which are to be found in the folio MS., and are printed in 'British Bards'), with its accompanying MS. fragments, as the foundation of the text of the first edition of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'.
Between the first edition, published in March, and the second edition in October, 1809, the difference is even greater than between the first edition and 'British Bards'. The Preface was enlarged, and a postscript affixed to the text of the poem. Hobhouse's lines (first edition, 247-262) were omitted, and the following additional passages inserted, viz.: (i.) lines 1-96, "Still must I hear," etc.; (ii.) lines 129-142, "Thus saith the Preacher," etc.; (iii.) lines 363-417, "But if some new-born whim," etc.; (iv.) lines 638-706, "Or hail at once," etc.; (v.) lines 765-798, "When some brisk youth," etc.; (vi.) lines 859-880, "And here let Shee," etc.; (vii.) lines 949-960, "Yet what avails," etc.; (viii.) lines 973-980, "There, Clarke," etc.; (ix.) lines 1011-1070, "Then hapless Britain," etc. These additions number 370 lines, and, together with the 680 lines of the first edition (reduced from 696 by the omission of Hobhouse's contribution), make up the 1050 lines of the second and third editions, and the doubtful fourth edition of 1810. Of these additions, Nos. i., ii., iii., iv., vi., viii., ix. exist in MS., and are bound up with the folio MS. now in Mr. Murray's possession.
The third edition, which is, generally, dated 1810, is a replica of the second edition.
The first issue of the fourth edition, which appeared in 1810, is identical with the second and third editions. A second issue of the fourth edition, dated 1811, must have passed under Byron's own supervision. Lines 723, 724 are added, and lines 725, 726 are materially altered. The fourth edition of 1811 numbers 1052 lines.
The suppressed fifth edition, numbering 1070 lines (the copy in the British Museum has the title-page of the fourth edition; a second copy, in Mr. Murray's possession, has no title-page), varies from the fourth edition of 1811 by the addition of lines 97-102 and 528-539, and by some twenty-nine emendations of the text. Eighteen of these emendations were made by Byron in a copy of the fourth edition which belonged to Leigh Hunt. On another copy, in Mr. Murray's possession, Byron made nine emendations, of which six are identical with those in the Hunt copy, and three appear for the first time. It was in the latter volume that he inscribed his after-thoughts, which are dated "B. 1816."
For a complete collation of the five editions of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', and textual emendations in the two annotated volumes, and for a note on genuine and spurious copies of the first and other editions, see 'The Bibliography of the Poetical Works of Lord Byron', vol. vi.
[Facsimile of title-page of first edition, including Byron's signature. To view this and other facsimiles, and the other illustrations mentioned in this text, see the html edition. text Ed.]
I had rather be a kitten, and cry, mew! Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers.
Such shameless Bards we have; and yet 'tis true, There are as mad, abandon'd Critics too.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
HOURS OF IDLENESS, AND OTHER EARLY POEMS.
Preface to the Poems Bibliographical Note to "Hours of Idleness and Other Early Poems" Bibliographical Note to "English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers" On Leaving Newstead Abbey To E—— On the Death of a Young Lady, Cousin to the Author, and very dear to Him To D—— To Caroline To Caroline [second poem] To Emma Fragments of School Exercises: From the "Prometheus Vinctus" of AEschylus Lines written in "Letters of an Italian Nun and an English Gentleman, by J.J. Rousseau: Founded on Facts" Answer to the Foregoing, Addressed to Miss—— On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School Epitaph on a Beloved Friend Adrian's Address to his Soul when Dying A Fragment To Caroline [third poem] To Caroline [fourth poem] On a Distant View of the Village and School of Harrow on the Hill, 1806 Thoughts Suggested by a College Examination To Mary, on Receiving Her Picture On the Death of Mr. Fox 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 To a Beautiful Quaker To Lesbia! To Woman An Occasional Prologue, Delivered by the Author Previous to the Performance of "The Wheel of Fortune" at a Private Theatre To Eliza The Tear Reply to some Verses of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq., on the Cruelty of his Mistress Granta. A Medley To the Sighing Strephon The Cornelian To M—— Lines Addressed to a Young Lady. [As the Author was discharging his Pistols in a Garden, Two Ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a Bullet hissing near them, to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning] Translation from Catullus. 'Ad Lesbiam' Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullus, by Domitius Marsus Imitation of Tibullus. 'Sulpicia ad Cerinthum' Translation from Catullus. 'Lugete Veneres Cupidinesque' Imitated from Catullus. To Ellen
POEMS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. To M.S.G. Stanzas to a Lady, with the Poems of Camoens To M.S.G. [second poem] Translation from Horace. 'Justum et tenacem', etc. The First Kiss of Love Childish Recollections Answer to a Beautiful Poem, Written by Montgomery, Author of "The Wanderer in Switzerland," etc., entitled "The Common Lot" Love's Last Adieu Lines Addressed to the Rev. J.T. Becher, on his advising the Author to mix more with Society Answer to some Elegant Verses sent by a Friend to the Author, complaining that one of his descriptions was rather too warmly drawn Elegy on Newstead Abbey
HOURS OF IDLENESS. To George, Earl Delawarr Damaetas To Marion Oscar of Alva Translation from Anacreon. Ode I From Anacreon. Ode 3 The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus. A Paraphrase from the 'AEneid', Lib. 9 Translation from the 'Medea' of Euripides [L. 627-660] Lachin y Gair To Romance The Death of Calmar and Orla To Edward Noel Long, Esq. To a Lady
POEMS ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED. When I Roved a Young Highlander To the Duke of Dorset To the Earl of Clare I would I were a Careless Child Lines Written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow
EARLY POEMS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. Fragment, Written Shortly after the Marriage of Miss Chaworth. First published in Moore's 'Letters and Journals of Lord Byron', 1830, i. 56 Remembrance. First published in 'Works of Lord Byron', 1832, vii. 152 To a Lady Who Presented the Author with the Velvet Band which bound her Tresses. 'Works', 1832, vii. 151 To a Knot of Ungenerous Critics. 'MS. Newstead' Soliloquy of a Bard in the Country. 'MS. Newstead' L'Amitie est L'Amour sans Ailes. 'Works', 1832, vii. 161 The Prayer of Nature. 'Letters and Journals', 1830, i. 106 Translation from Anacreon. Ode 5. 'MS. Newstead' [Ossian's Address to the Sun in "Carthon."] 'MS. Newstead' [Pignus Amoris.] 'MS. Newstead' [A Woman's Hair.] 'Works', 1832, vii. 151 Stanzas to Jessy. 'Monthly Literary Recreations', July, 1807 The Adieu. 'Works', 1832, vii. 195 To——. 'MS. Newstead' On the Eyes of Miss A——H——. 'MS. Newstead' To a Vain Lady. 'Works', 1832, vii. 199 To Anne. 'Works', 1832, vii. 201 Egotism. A Letter to J.T. Becher. 'MS. Newstead' To Anne. 'Works', 1832, vii. 202 To the Author of a Sonnet Beginning, "'Sad is my verse,' you say, 'and yet no tear.'" 'Works', 1832, vii. 202 On Finding a Fan. 'Works', 1832, 203 Farewell to the Muse. 'Works', 1832, vii. 203 To an Oak at Newstead. 'Works', 1832, vii. 206 On Revisiting Harrow. 'Letters and Journals', i. 102 To my Son. 'Letters and Journals', i. 104 Queries to Casuists. 'MS. Newstead' Song. Breeze of the Night. 'MS. Lovelace' To Harriet. 'MS. Newstead' There was a Time, I need not name. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 200 And wilt Thou weep when I am low? 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 202 Remind me not, Remind me not. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 197 To a Youthful Friend. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 185 Lines Inscribed upon a Cup Formed from a Skull. First published, 'Childe Harold', Cantos i., ii. (Seventh Edition), 1814 Well! Thou art Happy. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 192 Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 190 To a Lady, On Being asked my reason for quitting England in the Spring. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 195 Fill the Goblet Again. A Song. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 204 Stanzas to a Lady, on Leaving England. 'Imitations and Translations', 1809, p. 227
ENGLISH BARDS, AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS
HINTS FROM HORACE
THE CURSE OF MINERVA
HOURS OF IDLENESS
AND OTHER EARLY POEMS.
ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. [i]
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 desart comes: it howls in thy empty court.-OSSIAN. 
Through thy battlements, Newstead,  the hollow winds whistle: [ii] Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way.
Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly, to battle, [iii] Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain,  The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry 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 Horistan  slumbers, Unnerv'd 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, [iv] Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. 
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu! [v] Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, ǐ 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; [vii] Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, The fame of his Fathers he ne'er can forget. [viii]
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish; [ix] 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!
[Footnote 1: The motto was prefixed in Hours of Idleness.]
[Footnote 2: The priory of Newstead, or de Novo Loco, in Sherwood, was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II. On the dissolution of the monasteries it was granted (in 1540) by Henry VIII. to "Sir John Byron the Little, with the great beard." His portrait is still preserved at Newstead.]
[Footnote 3: No record of any crusading ancestors in the Byron family can be found. Moore conjectures that the legend was suggested by some groups of heads on the old panel-work at Newstead, which appear to represent Christian soldiers and Saracens, and were, most probably, put up before the Abbey came into the possession of the family.]
[Footnote 4: Horistan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the B—R—N family [4to]. (Horiston.—4to.)]
[Footnote 5: The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.]
[Footnote 6: Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the Fleet, in the reign of Charles II.]
[Footnote 7: Sir Nicholas Byron, the great-grandson of Sir John Byron the Little, distinguished himself in the Civil Wars. He is described by Clarendon (Hist, of the Rebellion, 1807, i. 216) as "a person of great affability and dexterity, as well as martial knowledge." He was Governor of Carlisle, and afterwards Governor of Chester. His nephew and heir-at-law, Sir John Byron, of Clayton, K.B. (1599-1652), was raised to the peerage as Baron Byron of Rochdale, after the Battle of Newbury, October 26, 1643. He held successively the posts of Lieutenant of the Tower, Governor of Chester, and, after the expulsion of the Royal Family from England, Governor to the Duke of York. He died childless, and was succeeded by his brother Richard, the second lord, from whom the poet was descended. Five younger brothers, as Richard's monument in the chancel of Hucknall Torkard Church records, "faithfully served King Charles the First in the Civil Wars, suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their present fortunes." (See Life of Lord Byron, by Karl Elze: Appendix, Note (A), p. 436.)]
[Footnote i: 'On Leaving N ... ST ... D.'—[4to] 'On Leaving Newstead.'—('P. on V. Occasions.')]
'Through the cracks in these battlements loud the winds whistle For the hall of my fathers is gone to decay; And in yon once gay garden the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way'.
'Of the barons of old, who once proudly to battle'.
'For Charles the Martyr their country defending'.
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]
[Footnote v: 'Bids ye adieu!' [4to]]
[Footnote vi: 'Though a tear dims.' [4to]]
[Footnote vii: ''Tis nature, not fear, which commands his regret'. [4to]]
[Footnote viii: 'In the grave he alone can his fathers forget'. [4to]]
[Footnote ix: 'Your fame, and your memory, still will he cherish'. [4to]]
Let Folly smile, to view the names Of thee and me, in Friendship twin'd; Yet Virtue will have greater claims To love, than rank with vice combin'd.
And though unequal is thy fate, Since title deck'd my higher birth; Yet envy not this gaudy state, Thine is the pride of modest worth.
Our souls at least congenial meet, Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace; Our intercourse is not less sweet, Since worth of rank supplies the place.
[Footnote 1: E—-was, according to Moore, a boy of Byron's own age, the son of one of the tenants at Newstead.]
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,  COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb, And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay, where once such animation beam'd; The King of Terrors seiz'd her as his prey; Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.
Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate, Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the Muse her virtues would relate.
But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; And weeping angels lead her to those bowers, Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.
And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign! And, madly, Godlike Providence accuse! Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;— I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. [i]
[Footnote 1: The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of fourteen), and his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration.—[4to]
"My first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of a passion for—my first cousin, Margaret Parker (daughter and granddaughter of the two Admirals Parker), one of the most beautiful of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten the verse; but it would be difficult for me to forget her—her dark eyes—her long eye-lashes—her completely Greek cast of face and figure! I was then about twelve—she rather older, perhaps a year. She died about a year or two afterwards, in consequence of a fall, which injured her spine, and induced consumption ... I knew nothing of her illness, being at Harrow and in the country till she was gone. Some years after, I made an attempt at an elegy—a very dull one."—Byron Diary, 1821; Life, p. 17.
[Margaret Parker was the sister of Sir Peter Parker, whose death at Baltimore, in 1814, Byron celebrated in the "Elegiac Stanzas," which were first published in the poems attached to the seventh edition of Childe Harold.]
[Footnote i: Such sorrow brings me honour, not disgrace. [4to]]
In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant grasp, [i] Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forc'd thee from my breast, Yet, in my heart, thou keep'st thy seat; [ii] There, there, thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat.
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?
[Footnote 1: George John, 5th Earl Delawarr (1791-1869). (See note 2, p. 100; see also lines "To George, Earl Delawarr," pp. 126-128.)]
_But envy with malignant grasp, Has torn thee from my breast for ever.
[Footnote ii: But in my heart. [4to]]
TO CAROLINE. [i]
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay; And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs, Which said far more than words can say? [ii]
Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, [iii] When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own.
But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breath'd my name.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But that, will make us weep the more.
Again, thou best belov'd, adieu! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only hope is, to forget!
[Footnote i: To——. [4to]]
[Footnote ii: than words could say. [4to]]
[Footnote iii: Though deep the grief. [4to]]
TO CAROLINE. 
You say you love, and yet your eye No symptom of that love conveys, You say you love, yet know not why, Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee.
Whene'er we meet my blushes rise, And mantle through my purpled cheek, But yet no blush to mine replies, Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak.
Your voice alone declares your flame, And though so sweet it breathes my name, Our passions still are not the same; Alas! you cannot love like me.
For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow, And though so oft it meets my kiss, It burns with no responsive glow, Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
Ah! what are words to love like mine, Though uttered by a voice like thine, I still in murmurs must repine, And think that love can ne'er be true,
Which meets me with no joyous sign, Without a sigh which bids adieu; How different is my love from thine, How keen my grief when leaving you.
Your image fills my anxious breast, Till day declines adown the West, And when at night, I sink to rest, In dreams your fancied form I view.
'Tis then your breast, no longer cold, With equal ardour seems to burn, While close your arms around me fold, Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
Ah! would these joyous moments last; Vain HOPE! the gay delusion's past, That voice!—ah! no, 'tis but the blast, Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
But when awake, your lips I seek, And clasp enraptur'd all your charms, So chill's the pressure of your cheek, I fold a statue in my arms.
If thus, when to my heart embrac'd, No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd, You may be prudent, fair, and chaste, But ah! my girl, you do not love.
[Footnote 1: These lines, which appear in the Quarto, were never republished.]
TO EMMA. 
Since now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover; Since now, our dream of bliss is past, One pang, my girl, and all is over.
Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Which tears me far from one so dear, Departing for a distant shore.
Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, And joy will mingle with our tears; When thinking on these ancient towers, The shelter of our infant years;
Where from this Gothic casement's height, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell, And still, though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell,
O'er fields through which we us'd to run, And spend the hours in childish play; O'er shades where, when our race was done, Reposing on my breast you lay;
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss, It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes:
See still the little painted bark, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park, The elm I clamber'd for your sake.
These times are past, our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes, I must retrace alone; Without thee, what will they avail?
Who can conceive, who has not prov'd, The anguish of a last embrace? When, torn from all you fondly lov'd, You bid a long adieu to peace.
This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu!
[Footnote 1: To Maria—[4to]]
FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES: FROM THE "PROMETHEUS VINCTUS" OF AESCHYLUS,
[Greek: Maedam o panta nemon, K.T.L] 
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne Both Gods and mortals homage pay, Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall, In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; My voice shall raise no impious strain, 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.
How different now thy joyless fate, Since first Hesione thy bride, When plac'd aloft in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd, And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd; The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd, 
HARROW, December 1, 1804.
[Footnote 1: The Greek heading does not appear in the Quarto, nor in the three first Editions.]
[Footnote 2: "My first Harrow verses (that is, English, as exercises), a translation of a chorus from the 'Prometheus' of AEschylus, were received by Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our headmaster), but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poetry."—'Life', p. 20. The lines are not a translation but a loose adaptation or paraphrase of part of a chorus of the 'Prometheus Vinctus', I, 528, 'sq.']
WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN, BY J. J. ROUSSEAU;  FOUNDED ON FACTS."
"Away, away,—your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts; And you will smile at their believing, And they shall weep at your deceiving."
[Footnote 1: A second edition of this work, of which the title is, Letters, etc., translated from the French of Jean Jacques Rousseau, was published in London, in 1784. It is, probably, a literary forgery.]
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, [i] ADDRESSED TO MISS——.
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts, (From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,)[ii] Exist but in imagination, Mere phantoms of thine own creation; [iii] For he who views that witching grace, That perfect form, that lovely face, With eyes admiring, oh! believe me, He never wishes to deceive thee: Once in thy polish'd mirror glance [iv] Thou'lt there descry that elegance Which from our sex demands such praises, But envy in the other raises.— Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, [v] Believe me, only does his duty: Ah! fly not from the candid youth; It is not flattery,—'tis truth. ǐ
[Footnote i: Answer to the above. [4to] ]
[Footnote ii: From which you'd. [4to] ]
Mere phantoms of your own creation; For he who sees. [4to]]
Once let you at your mirror glance You'll there descry that elegance, [4to]]
Then he who tells you of your beauty. [4to]]
It is not flattery, but truth. [4to]]
ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL. 
Where are those honours, IDA! once your own, When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne? As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, Hail'd a Barbarian in her Caesar's place, So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate. Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, [i] Pomposus holds you in his harsh controul; Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, With florid jargon, and with vain parade; With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules, (Such as were ne'er before enforc'd in schools.) [ii] Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws, He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause; With him the same dire fate, attending Rome, Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom: Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame, No trace of science left you, but the name,
HARROW, July, 1805.
[Footnote 1: In March, 1805, Dr. Drury, the Probus of the piece, retired from the Head-mastership of Harrow School, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler, the Pomposus. "Dr. Drury," said Byron, in one of his note-books, "was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father." Out of affection to his late preceptor, Byron advocated the election of Mark Drury to the vacant post, and hence his dislike of the successful candidate. He was reconciled to Dr. Butler before departing for Greece, in 1809, and in his diary he says, "I treated him rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since." (See allusions in and notes to "Childish Recollections," pp. 84-106, and especially note I, p. 88, notes I and 2, p. 89, and note I, p. 91.)] ]
——but of a narrower soul.—[4to]]
Such as were ne'er before beheld in schools.—[4to]]
EPITAPH ON A BELOVED FRIEND.
[Greek: Astaer prin men elampes eni tsuoisin hepsos.]
[Plato's Epitaph (Epig. Graec., Jacobs, 1826, p. 309), quoted by Diog. Laertins.]
Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever dear! [i] 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 liv'd 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 statues there are seen to weep; Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. What though thy sire lament his failing line, A father's sorrows cannot equal mine! Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer, Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here: But, who with me shall hold thy former place? Thine image, what new friendship can efface? Ah, none!—a father's tears will cease to flow, Time will assuage an infant brother's woe; To all, save one, is consolation known, While solitary Friendship sighs alone.
HARROW, 1803. 
Oh Boy! for ever loved, for ever dear! What fruitless tears have wash'd thy honour'd bier; What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs of death. Could tears have turn'd the tyrant in his course, Could sighs have checked his dart's relentless force; [iii] Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey, Thou still had'st liv'd to bless my aching sight, Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight: 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 liv'd, 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 compos'd 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.
HARROW, 1803.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]]
[Footnote 1: The heading which appears in the Quarto and P. on V. Occasions was subsequently changed to "Epitaph on a Friend." The motto was prefixed in 'Hours of Idleness'. The epigram which Bergk leaves under Plato's name was translated by Shelley ('Poems', 1895, iii. 361)—
"Thou wert the morning star Among the living, Ere thy fair light had fled; Now having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving New splendour to the dead."
There is an echo of the Greek distich in Byron's exquisite line, "The Morning-Star of Memory."
The words, "Southwell, March 17," are added, in a lady's hand, on p. 9 of the annotated copy of P. 'on' V. 'Occasions' in the British Museum. The conjecture that the "'beloved' friend," who is of humble origin, is identical with "E——" of the verses on p. 4, remains uncertain.]
[Footnote ii: have bath'd thy honoured bier.
[P. on V. Occasions.] ]
[Footnote iii: Could tears retard, [P. on V. Occasions.] Could sighs avert. [P. on V. Occasions.] ]
ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL WHEN DYING.
Animula! vagula, Blandula, Hospes, comesque corporis, Quae nunc abibis in Loca— Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis Jocos?
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite, Friend and associate of this clay! To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight? No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.
A FRAGMENT. 
When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns, To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone; [i] My epitaph shall be my name alone:  If that with honour fail to crown my clay, [ii] Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay! That, only that, shall single out the spot; By that remember'd, or with that forgot. [iii]
[Footnote 1: There is no heading in the Quarto.]
[Footnote 2: In his will, drawn up in 1811, Byron gave directions that "no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb." June, 1819, he wrote to Murray: "Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for instance, 'Martini Luigi Implora pace.' Can anything be more full of pathos? I hope whoever may survive me will see those two words, and no more, put over me."—'Life', pp. 131, 398.]
'No lengthen'd scroll of virtue and renown.'
[4to. P. on V. Occ.]]
'If that with honour fails,'
'But that remember'd, or fore'er forgot'.
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]
TO CAROLINE. 
Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay? The present is hell! and the coming to-morrow But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.
From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no curses, [i] I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss; For poor is the soul which, bewailing, rehearses Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this—
Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning, Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage, On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.
But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight.
Yet, still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Love and Hope upon earth bring no more consolation, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear.
Oh! when, my ador'd, in the tomb will they place me, Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Perhaps they will leave unmolested—the dead.
[Footnote 1: [To———.—[4to].]]
[Footnote i: 'fall no curses'.—[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]
TO CAROLINE. 
When I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.
Yet still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;
That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.
Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, In the death which one day will deprive you of me. [i]
Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, [ii] No doubt can the mind of your lover invade; He worships each look with such faithful devotion, A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.
But as death, my belov'd, soon or late shall o'ertake us, And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us, When calling the dead, in Earth's bosom laid low.
Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flow; [iii] Let us pass round the cup of Love's bliss in full measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below.
[Footnote 1: [There is no heading in the Quarto.]]
[Footnote i: will deprive me of thee.—[4to]]
No jargon of priests o'er our union was mutter'd, To rivet the fetters of husband and wife; By our lips, by our hearts, were our vows alone utter'd, To perform them, in full, would ask more than a life.—[4to]]
[Footnote iii: will unceasingly flow.—[4to]]
ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL OF HARROW ON THE HILL, 1806.
Oh! mihi praeteritos referat si Jupiter annos.
Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection Embitters the present, compar'd with the past; Where science first dawn'd 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, [i] Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd!
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 Mossop  himself was outshone.
Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv'd; Till, fir'd by loud plaudits and self-adulation, I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv'd. [ii]
Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you! Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast; [iii] 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, [iv] 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." 
[Footnote 1: The motto was prefixed in 'Hours of Idleness'.]
"My school-friendships were with me passions (for I was always violent), but I do not know that there is one which has endured (to be sure, some have been cut short by death) till now."
'Diary', 1821; 'Life', p. 21.]
[Footnote 3: Byron was at first placed in the house of Mr. Henry Drury, but in 1803 was removed to that of Mr. Evans.
"The reason why Lord Byron wishes for the change, arises from the repeated complaints of Mr. Henry Drury respecting his inattention to business, and his propensity to make others laugh and disregard their employment as much as himself."
Dr. Joseph Drury to Mr. John Hanson.]
"At Harrow I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but one battle out of seven."
'Diary', 1821; 'Life', p. 21.]
[Footnote 5: A tomb in the churchyard at Harrow was so well known to be his favourite resting-place, that the boys called it "Byron's Tomb:" and here, they say, he used to sit for hours, wrapt up in thought.—'Life', p. 26.]
[Footnote 6: For the display of his declamatory powers, on the speech-days, he selected always the most vehement passages; such as the speech of Zanga over the body of Alonzo, and Lear's address to the storm.—'Life', p. 20, 'note'; and 'post', p. 103, 'var'. i.]
[Footnote 7: Henry Mossop (1729-1773), a contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of "Zanga" in Young's tragedy of 'The Revenge'.]
[Footnote 8: Stanzas 8 and 9 first appeared in 'Hours of Idleness'.]
[Footnote i: 'How welcome once more'.
'I consider'd myself'.
'As your memory beams through this agonized breast; Thus sad and deserted, I n'er can forget you, Though this heart throbs to bursting by anguish possest.
Your memory beams through this agonized breast.—
[P. on V. Occasions.']
'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'.
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]
THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION.
High in the midst, surrounded by his peers, Magnus  his ample front sublime uprears: [i] Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a God, While Sophs  and Freshmen tremble at his nod; As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, [ii] His voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome; Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.
Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried, Though little vers'd in any art beside; 10 Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen, [iii] Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken.
What! though he knows not how his fathers bled, When civil discord pil'd the fields with dead, When Edward bade his conquering bands advance, Or Henry trampled on the crest of France: Though marvelling at the name of Magna Charta, Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta; Can tell, what edicts sage Lycurgus made, While Blackstone's on the shelf, neglected laid; 20 Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame, Of Avon's bard, rememb'ring scarce the name.
Such is the youth whose scientific pate Class-honours, medals, fellowships, await; Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize, If to such glorious height, he lifts his eyes. But lo! no common orator can hope The envied silver cup within his scope: Not that our heads much eloquence require, Th' ATHENIAN'S  glowing style, or TULLY'S fire. 30 A manner clear or warm is useless, since [iv] We do not try by speaking to convince; Be other orators of pleasing proud,— We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd: Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, A proper mixture of the squeak and groan: No borrow'd grace of action must be seen, The slightest motion would displease the Dean; Whilst every staring Graduate would prate, Against what—he could never imitate. 40
The man, who hopes t' obtain the promis'd cup, Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up; Nor stop, but rattle over every word— No matter what, so it can not be heard: Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest: Who speaks the fastest's sure to speak the best; Who utters most within the shortest space, May, safely, hope to win the wordy race.
The Sons of Science these, who, thus repaid, Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade; 50 Where on Cam's sedgy banks, supine, they lie, Unknown, unhonour'd live—unwept for die: Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls, They think all learning fix'd within their walls: In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, All modern arts affecting to despise; Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or Porson's  note, [v] More than the verse on which the critic wrote: Vain as their honours, heavy as their Ale,  Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale; 60 To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel, When Self and Church demand a Bigot zeal. With eager haste they court the lord of power, ǐ (Whether 'tis PITT or PETTY  rules the hour;) To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, While distant mitres to their eyes are spread; [vii] But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his place. Such are the men who learning's treasures guard! Such is their practice, such is their reward! 70 This much, at least, we may presume to say— The premium can't exceed the price they pay. [viii]
No reflection is here intended against the person mentioned under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented as performing an unavoidable function of his office. Indeed, such an attempt could only recoil upon myself; as that gentleman is now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he fills his situation, as he was in his younger days for wit and conviviality.
[Dr. William Lort Mansel (1753-1820) was, in 1798, appointed Master of Trinity College, by Pitt. He obtained the bishopric of Bristol, through the influence of his pupil, Spencer Perceval, in 1808. He died in 1820.]
[Footnote 2: Undergraduates of the second and third year.]
[Footnote 3: Demosthenes.]
[Footnote 4: The present Greek professor at Trinity College, Cambridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may, perhaps, justify their preference. [Richard Porson (1759-1808). For Byron's description of him, see letter to Murray, of February 20, 1818. Byron says ('Diary', December 17, 18, 1813) that he wrote the 'Devil's Drive' in imitation of Porson's 'Devil's Walk'. This was a common misapprehension at the time. The 'Devil's Thoughts' was the joint composition of Coleridge and Southey, but it was generally attributed to Porson, who took no trouble to disclaim it. It was originally published in the 'Morning Post', Sept. 6, 1799, and Stuart, the editor, said that it raised the circulation of the paper for several days after. (See Coleridge's Poems (1893), pp. 147, 621.)]
[Footnote 5: Lines 59-62 are not in the Quarto. They first appeared in 'Poems Original and Translated']
[Footnote 6: Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty has lost his place, and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honour of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no comment. (Lord Henry Petty, M.P. for the University of Cambridge, was Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1805; but in 1807 he lost his seat. In 1809 he succeeded his brother as Marquis of Lansdowne. He died in 1863.)]
[Footnote i: 'M—us—l.—'[4to]]
[Footnote ii: 'Whilst all around.'—[4to]]
'Who with scarse sense to pen an English letter, Yet with precision scans an Attis metre.'
'The manner of the speech is nothing, since',
[4to. 'P, on V. Occasions'.]]
[4to. 'Three first Editions'.]]
'They court the tool of power'.
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions.']]
'While mitres, prebends'.
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions.']]
The 'reward's' scarce equal to the 'price' they pay.
ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. 
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, ị 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 plac'd thee next my heart.
She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear, Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there Held every sense in fast controul.
Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time,'twill cheer— My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; In life's last conflict 'twill appear, And meet my fond, expiring gaze.
[Footnote 1: This "Mary" is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or "Mary" of Aberdeen. She was of humble station in life. Byron used to show a lock of her light golden hair, as well as her picture, among his friends. (See 'Life', p. 41, 'note'.)]
'But Where's the beam of soft desire? Which gave a lustre to its blue, Love, only love, could e'er inspire.—'
[4to. 'P. on V, Occasions]]
ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX,
THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN THE "MORNING POST."
"Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath: These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue, We give the palm, where Justice points its due."
TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE FOLLOWING REPLY [i] FOR INSERTION IN THE "MORNING CHRONICLE."
Oh, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth Would mangle, still, the dead, perverting truth; [ii] What, though our "nation's foes" lament the fate, With generous feeling, of the good and great; Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name [iii] Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame? When PITT expir'd in plenitude of power, Though ill success obscur'd his dying hour, Pity her dewy wings before him spread, For noble spirits "war not with the dead:" His friends in tears, a last sad requiem gave, As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; [iv] He sunk, an Atlas bending "'neath the weight" [v] Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state. When, lo! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd, Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd: He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, ǐ With him, our fast reviving hopes have died; Not one great people, only, raise his urn, All Europe's far-extended regions mourn. "These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth undue, To give the palm where Justice points its due;" [vii] Yet, let not canker'd Calumny assail, [viii] Or round her statesman wind her gloomy veil. FOX! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep; For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, While friends and foes, alike, his talents own.—[ix] Fox! shall, in Britain's future annals, shine, Nor e'en to PITT, the patriot's 'palm' resign; Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask, For PITT, and PITT alone, has dar'd to ask. [x]
(Southwell, Oct., 1806. )
[Footnote 1: The stanza on the death of Fox appeared in the Morning Post, September 26, 1806.]
[Footnote 2: This MS. is preserved at Newstead.]
The subjoined Reply.
Would mangle, still, the dead, in spite of truth.
Shall, therefore, dastard tongues assail the name Of him, whose virtues claim eternal fame?
[Footnote iv: And all his errors.—[4to] ]
[Footnote v: He died, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight Of cares oppressing our unhappy state. But lo! another Hercules appeared.
He too is dead who still our England propp'd With him our fast reviving hopes have dropp'd.
[Footnote vii: And give the palm. [4to] ]
_But let not canker'd Calumny assail And round.—
[Footnote ix: And friends and foes. [4to] ]
[Footnote x: '—would dare to ask.' ]
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. 
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 prov'd it; Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov'd 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 Shakespeare set the precedent; Since Juliet first declar'd 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, Had chang'd 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: ị 'There', we can love for hours together, Much better, in such snowy weather, Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves, That ever witness'd rural loves; 'Then', if my passion fail to please, [ii.] Next night I'll be content to freeze; No more I'll give a loose to laughter, But curse my fate, for ever after. 
[Footnote 1: These lines are addressed to the same Mary referred to in the lines beginning, "This faint resemblance of thy charms." ('Vide ante', p. 32.)]
[Footnote 2: In the above little piece the author has been accused by some 'candid readers' of introducing the name of a lady [Julia Leacroft] from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time this was written; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in "the tomb of all the Capulets," has been converted, with a trifling alteration of her name, into an English damsel, walking in a garden of their own creation, during the month of 'December', in a village where the author never passed a winter. Such has been the candour of some ingenious critics. We would advise these 'liberal' commentators on taste and arbiters of decorum to read 'Shakespeare'.
Having heard that a very severe and indelicate censure has been passed on the above poem, I beg leave to reply in a quotation from an admired work, 'Carr's Stranger in France'.—"As we were contemplating a painting on a large scale, in which, among other figures, is the uncovered whole length of a warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of desperation, after having attentively surveyed it through her glass, observed to her party that there was a great deal of indecorum in that picture. Madame S. shrewdly whispered in my ear 'that the indecorum was in the remark.'"—[Ed. 1803, cap. xvi, p. 171. Compare the note on verses addressed "To a Knot of Ungenerous Critics," p. 213.]]
'Oh! let me in your chamber greet you.'
'There if my passion'
[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions]]
TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. 
Sweet girl! though only once we met, That meeting I shall ne'er forget; And though we ne'er may meet again, Remembrance will thy form retain; I would not say, "I love," but still, My senses struggle with my will: In vain to drive thee from my breast, My thoughts are more and more represt; In vain I check the rising sighs, Another to the last replies: Perhaps, this is not love, but yet, Our meeting I can ne'er forget.
What, though we never silence broke, Our eyes a sweeter language spoke; The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, And tells a tale it never feels: Deceit, the guilty lips impart, And hush the mandates of the heart; But soul's interpreters, the eyes, Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise. As thus our glances oft convers'd, And all our bosoms felt rehears'd, No spirit, from within, reprov'd us, Say rather, "'twas the spirit mov'd us." Though, what they utter'd, I repress, Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess; For as on thee, my memory ponders, Perchance to me, thine also wanders. This, for myself, at least, I'll say, Thy form appears through night, through day; Awake, with it my fancy teems, In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams; The vision charms the hours away, And bids me curse Aurora's ray For breaking slumbers of delight, Which make me wish for endless night. Since, oh! whate'er my future fate, Shall joy or woe my steps await; Tempted by love, by storms beset, Thine image, I can ne'er forget.
Alas! again no more we meet, No more our former looks repeat; Then, let me breathe this parting prayer, The dictate of my bosom's care: "May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker, That anguish never can o'ertake her; That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, But bliss be aye her heart's partaker! Oh! may the happy mortal, fated [i] To be, by dearest ties, related, For her, each hour, new joys discover, [ii] And lose the husband in the lover! May that fair bosom never know What 'tis to feel the restless woe, Which stings the soul, with vain regret, Of him, who never can forget!"
Whom the author saw at Harrowgate.
Annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions', p. 64 (British Museum).]
[Footnote i: The Quarto inserts the following lines:—
"No jealous passion shall invade, No envy that pure heart pervade;" For he that revels in such charms, Can never seek another's arms.]
new joy discover.
TO LESBIA! [i] 
LESBIA! since far from you I've rang'd, [ii] Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say, 'tis I, not you, have chang'd, 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, [iii] 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 pass'd away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage, At least, I feel disposed to stray, love!
"Tis 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.
No, no, my flame was not pretended; For, oh! I lov'd you most sincerely; And though our dream at last is ended My bosom still esteems you dearly.
No more we meet in yonder bowers; Absence has made me prone to roving; [iv] But older, firmer hearts than ours Have found monotony in loving.
Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd, New beauties, still, are daily bright'ning, Your eye, for conquest beams prepar'd, [v] The forge of love's resistless lightning.
Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed, Many will throng, to sigh like me, love! More constant they may prove, indeed; Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!
[Footnote 1: "The lady's name was Julia Leacroft" ('Note by Miss E. Pigot'). The word "Julia" (?) is added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions', p. 52 (British Museum)]
[Footnote i: 'To Julia'. [4to]]
[Footnote ii: 'Julia since'. [4to]]
[Footnote iii: 'And Julia'. [4to]]
Perhaps my soul's too pure for roving.
Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd.
Woman! experience might have told me [i] That all must love thee, who behold thee: Surely experience might have taught Thy firmest promises are nought; [ii] But, plac'd in all thy charms before me, All I forget, but to adore thee. Oh memory! thou choicest blessing, When join'd with hope, when still possessing; [iii] But how much curst by every lover When hope is fled, and passion's over. Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, How prompt are striplings to believe her! How throbs the pulse, when first we view The eye that rolls in glossy blue, Or sparkles black, or mildly throws A beam from under hazel brows! How quick we credit every oath, And hear her plight the willing troth! Fondly we hope 'twill last for ay, When, lo! she changes in a day. This record will for ever stand,' "Woman, thy vows are trac'd in sand."  [iv]
A woman's promises are naught.
[Footnote iii: Here follows, in the Quarto, an additional couplet:—
Thou whisperest, as our hearts are beating, "What oft we've done, we're still repeating,"]
This Record will for ever stand That Woman's vows are writ in sand.
[Footnote 1: The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.
(The last line is not "almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb," but an adaptation of part of a stanza from the 'Diana' of Jorge de Montemajor—
"Mira, el Amor, lo que ordena; Que os viene a hazer creer Cosas dichas por muger, Y escriptas en el arena."
Southey, in his 'Letters from Spain', 1797, pp. 87-91, gives a specimen of the 'Diana', and renders the lines in question thus—
"And Love beheld us from his secret stand, And mark'd his triumph, laughing, to behold me, To see me trust a writing traced in sand, To see me credit what a woman told me."
Byron, who at this time had little or no knowledge of Spanish literature, seems to have been struck with Southey's paraphrase, and compressed the quatrain into an epigram.]
AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,
DELIVERED BY THE AUTHOR PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF "THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE" AT A PRIVATE THEATRE. 
Since the refinement of this polish'd age Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek, Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, And meet indulgence—though she find not fame. Still, not for her alone, we wish respect, [i] Others appear more conscious of defect: To-night no vet'ran Roscii you behold, In all the arts of scenic action old; No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here, No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear; To-night you throng to witness the debut Of embryo Actors, to the Drama new: Here, then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try; Clip not our pinions, ere the birds can fly: Failing in this our first attempt to soar, Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise; But all our Dramatis Personae wait, In fond suspense this crisis of their fate. No venal views our progress can retard, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward; For these, each Hero all his power displays, [ii] Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze: Surely the last will some protection find? [iii] None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind: While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, [iv] The sternest Censor to the fair must yield. [v] Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, Should, after all, our best endeavours fail; Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live, And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.
[Footnote 1. "I enacted Penruddock, in 'The Wheel of Fortune', and Tristram Fickle, in the farce of 'The Weathercock', for three nights, in some private theatricals at Southwell, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition."—'Diary; Life', p. 38. The prologue was written by him, between stages, on his way from Harrogate. On getting into the carriage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion, "Now, Pigot, I'll spin a prologue for our play;" and before they reached Mansfield he had completed his task,—interrupting only once his rhyming reverie, to ask the proper pronunciation of the French word 'debut'; and, on being told it, exclaiming, "Aye, that will do for rhyme to ''new'.'"—'Life', p. 39. "The Prologue was spoken by G. Wylde, Esq."—Note by Miss E. PIGOT.]
[Footnote i. But not for her alone.—[4to]
[Footnote ii: For them each Hero.—[4to]]
[Footnote iii: Surely these last.—[4to]]
[Footnote iv: Whilst Youth.—[4to. 'P. on V. Occasions'.]]
[Footnote v: The sternest critic.—[4to]]
TO ELIZA. [i]
Eliza!  what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who, to woman, deny the soul's future existence; Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance. [ii]
Had their Prophet possess'd half an atom of sense, [iii] He ne'er would have woman from Paradise driven; Instead of his Houris, a flimsy pretence, [iv] With woman alone he had peopled his Heaven.
Yet, still, to increase your calamities more, [v] Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit, He allots one poor husband to share amongst four! ǐ— With souls you'd dispense; but, this last, who could bear it?
His religion to please neither party is made; On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil; Still I can't contradict, [vii] what so oft has been said, "Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil."
This terrible truth, even Scripture has told,  Ye Benedicks! hear me, and listen with rapture; If a glimpse of redemption you wish to behold, Of ST. MATT.—read the second and twentieth chapter.
'Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex'd, With wives who eternal confusion are spreading; "But in Heaven" (so runs the Evangelists' Text) "We neither have giving in marriage, or wedding."
From this we suppose, (as indeed well we may,) That should Saints after death, with their spouses put up more, And wives, as in life, aim at absolute sway, All Heaven would ring with the conjugal uproar.
Distraction and Discord would follow in course, Nor MATTHEW, nor MARK, nor ST. PAUL, can deny it, The only expedient is general divorce, To prevent universal disturbance and riot.
But though husband and wife, shall at length be disjoin'd, Yet woman and man ne'er were meant to dissever, Our chains once dissolv'd, and our hearts unconfin'd, We'll love without bonds, but we'll love you for ever.
Though souls are denied you by fools and by rakes, Should you own it yourselves, I would even then doubt you, Your nature so much of celestial partakes, The Garden of Eden would wither without you.
Southwell, October 9, 1806.
[Footnote 1: The letters "E. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 26 (British Museum). The initials stand for Miss Elizabeth Pigot.]
[Footnote 2: Stanzas 5-10, which appear in the Quarto, were never reprinted.]
To Miss E. P. [4to] To Miss—-. [P. on V. Occasions.]]
Did they know but yourself they would bend with respect, And this doctrine must meet—-.
[Footnote iii: But an atom of sense. [4to]]
[Footnote iv: But instead of his Houris. [4to]]
[Footnote v: But still to increase. [4to]]
[Footnote vi: _He allots but one husband. [4to]]
[Footnote vii: But I can't—-. [4to]]
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater Felix! in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. 
GRAY, 'Alcaic Fragment'.
When Friendship or Love Our sympathies move; When Truth, in a glance, should appear, The lips may beguile, With a dimple or smile, But the test of affection's a Tear.