Fragment. Written Shortly After The Marriage Of Miss Chaworth. [1]

First published in Moore's 'Letters and Journals of Lord Byron', 1830, i. 56


1.

Hills of Annesley, Bleak and Barren,
Where my thoughtless Childhood stray'd,
How the northern Tempests, warring,
Howl above thy tufted Shade!

2.

Now no more, the Hours beguiling,
Former favourite Haunts I see;
Now no more my Mary smiling,
Makes ye seem a Heaven to Me.

George Gordon Byron

George Gordon Byron, commonly known as Lord Byron, was a British poet and leading figure in the Romantic movement. He is regarded as one of the greatest British poets and remains widely read and influential. Among his best-known works are the lengthy narrative poems Don Juan and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, and the short lyric She Walks in Beauty. Byron's personal life was marked by scandal and he was famously described by Lady Caroline Lamb as "mad, bad, and dangerous to know."

George Gordon Byron

I Would I Were A Careless Child.

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

To A Beautiful Quaker. [1]

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

Granta. A Medley.

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

On The Eyes Of Miss A---- H---- [1]

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

English

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When I Roved A Young Highlander.

1.

When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,
And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow! ^[1]
To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,
Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below; ^[2]
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,
And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew,
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear;
Need I say, my sweet Mary, ^[3] 'twas centred in you?


2.

Yet it could not be Love, for I knew not the name, -
What passion can dwell in the heart of a child?
But, still, I perceive an emotion the same
As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild:
One image, alone, on my bosom impress'd,
I lov'd my bleak regions, nor panted for new;
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Lines On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill.[91]

And thou wert sad - yet I was not with thee;
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that Joy and Health alone could be
Where I was not - and pain and sorrow here!
And is it thus? - it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,
While Heaviness collects the shattered spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.

I am too well avenged! - but 'twas my right;
Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent
To be the Nemesis who should requite - ^[92]
Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument.
Mercy is for the merciful! - if thou
Ha...

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To The Countess Of Blessington.

1.

You have asked for a verse: - the request
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.

2.

Were I now as I was, I had sung
What Lawrence has painted so well;^[607]
But the strain would expire on my tongue,
And the theme is too soft for my shell.

3.

I am ashes where once I was fire,
And the bard in my bosom is dead;
What I loved I now merely admire,
And my heart is as grey as my head.

4.

My Life is not dated by years -
There are moments which act as a plough,
And there is not a furrow appears
But is deep in my soul as my brow.

5.

Let the young and the brilliant aspire
To sing what I gaze on in...

George Gordon Byron

To A Lady.

1.

Oh! had my Fate been join'd with thine, ^[1]
As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.


2.

To thee, these early faults I owe,
To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.


3.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow'd by thee upon another. ^[1]


4.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.


5.

Ah! since thy angel form ...

George Gordon Byron

Epistle To Augusta.[83]

I.

My Sister! my sweet Sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
Go where I will, to me thou art the same -
A loved regret which I would not resign.^[z]
There yet are two things in my destiny, -
A world to roam through, and a home with thee.^[84]

II.

The first were nothing - had I still the last,
It were the haven of my happiness;
But other claims and other ties thou hast,^[aa]
And mine is not the wish to make them less.
A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past^[ab]
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress;
Reversed for him our grandsire's^[85] fate of yore, -
He had no rest at sea, nor...

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Well! Thou Art Happy. [1]

1.

Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.


2.

Thy husband's blest - and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass - Oh! how my heart
Would hate him if he loved thee not!


3.

When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smil'd,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.


4.

I kiss'd it, - and repress'd my sighs
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,
And they were all to love and me.


5.

Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I'll not repine;
But ne...

George Gordon Byron