THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME. THERE was a time, I need not name, Since it will ne'er forgotten be, When all our feelings were the same soul hath been to thee. As still my And from that hour when first thy tongue None, none hath sunk so deep as this But transient in thy breast alone. And yet my heart some solace knew, Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine. AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN 1 AM LOW? AND wilt thou weep when I am low? My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine; Oh lady! blessed be that tear It falls for one who cannot weep: Sweet lady! once my heart was warm Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again; Yet if they grieve thee, say not so— I would not give that bosom pain. (1) (1) The melancholy which was now gaining fast upon the young poet's mind was a source of much uneasiness to his friends. It was at this period that the following pleasant verses were addressed to him by Mr. Hobhouse: EPISTLE TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE. HAIL! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame But as your blood with dangerous passion boils, And you and Newstead must not want an heir, To find a treasure that can ne'er be found! No! take the first the town or court affords, Not farther much from comfort than from strife; But, as, your early youth some time allows, FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN A SONG. FILL the goblet again! for I never before In the goblet alone no deception is found. Pause! nor so soon the various bliss forego What! shall your Newstead, shall your cloister'd bowers, Shall these, profaned with folly or with strife, And ever fond, or ever angry wife! Shall these no more confess a manly sway, But changeful woman's changing whims obey? Change round to square, and square convert to round; Where gravel'd walks and flowers alternate glare; Your gothic abbey to a country seat. Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day When you beneath the female yoke shall bend, Trin. Coll. Camb. 1808. * In his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's volume, now before us, Lord Byron has here written with a pencil,-“I have lost them all, and shall WED accordingly. 1811. B."-E I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; That pleasure existed while passion was there? In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring, And dreams that affection can never take wing, will avow, That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam thou never canst change: Thou grow'st old - who does not?- but on earth what appears, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years? Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, We are jealous! who's not?-thou hast no such alloy; For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy, Then the season of youth and its vanities past, There we find- do we not? in the flow of the soul, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl. |