Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue

Of three bright colours', each divine,
And fit for that celestial sign;

For Freedom's hand had blended them,
Like tints in an immortal gem.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;
One, the pure Spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light:
The three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
And darkness must again prevail !
But, oh thou Rainbow of the free!
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades away,
Our life is but a load of clay.

And Freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead;
For beautiful in death are they
Who proudly fall in her array;
And soon, oh, Goddess! may we be
For evermore with them or thee!

The tricolour.

NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.

[FROM THE FRENCH.]

1.

FAREWELL to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
Arose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her name—
She abandons me now- but the page of her story,
The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame.
I have warr'd with a world which vanquish'd me only
When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;

I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,

The last single Captive to millions in war.

II.

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd me,

I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,

But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,

Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted

In strife with the storm, when their battles were won-
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment

blasted,

Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun!

III.

was

Farewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then,—
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though wither'd, thy tear will unfold it again

Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice

There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,

Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

ENDORSEMENT TO THE DEED OF SEPARATION, IN THE APRIL OF 1816. 1

A YEAR ago, you swore, fond she!
"To love, to honour," and so forth:
Such was the vow you pledged to me,

And here's exactly what 't is worth.

1["Here is an epigram I wrote for the Endorsement of the Deed of Separation, in 1816; but the lawyers objected to it, as superfluous. It was written as we were getting up the signing and sealing."-Lord Byron to Mr. Moore.]

133

DOMESTIC PIECES.

1816.

[Or the six following poems, the first three were written immediately before Lord Byron's final departure from England; the others, during the earlier part of his residence in the neighbourhood of Geneva. They all refer to the unhappy event, which will for ever mark the chief crisis of his personal story, — that separation from Lady Byron, of which, after all that has been said and written, the real motives and circumstances remain as obscure as ever.

It is only, of course, with Lord Byron's part in the transaction that the public have any sort of title to concern themselves. He has given us this right, by making a domestic occurrence the subject of printed verses; but, so long as the other party chooses to guard that reserve, which few can be so uncharitable as not to ascribe, in the main, to a high feeling, it is entirely impossible to arrive at any clear and definite judgment on the case as a whole. Each reader must, therefore, be content to interpret for himself, as fairly as he may, an already bulky collection of evidence, which will probably be doubled before it has any claim to be consi