Not so in Man's maturer years,

When Man himself is but a tool; When interest sways our hopes and fears, And all must love and hate by rule.

With fools in kindred vice the same,
We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.

Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then 'scape from folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,

Nor be what all in turn must be?

No; for myself, so dark my fate

Through every turn of life hath been; Man and the world so much I hate, I care not when I quit the scene.

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.

Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halls, The welcome vices kindly greet,)

Ev'n now thou 'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad

To join the vain and court the proud.

There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.

But say, what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours move,
To flit along from dame to dame,

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?

What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,

For friendship every fool may share?

In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be seen;

No more so idly pass along;

Be something, any thing, but

-mean.

1808.

LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL.1

START not - nor deem my spirit fled;
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,

Whatever flows is never dull.

1 [Lord Byron gives the following account of this cup:-." The gardener, in digging, discovered a skull that had probably belonged to some jolly friar or monk of the abbey, about the time it was demonasteried. Observing it to be of giant size, and in a perfect

I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee:
I died let earth my bones resign;

Fill up

thou canst not injure me;

The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape,

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood; And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of Gods, than reptile's food.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;

And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler subtitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Why not? since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808.

state of preservation, a strange fancy seized me of having it set and mounted as a drinking cup. I accordingly sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish, and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshell." It is now in the possession of Colonel Wildman, the proprietor of Newstead Abbey. In several of our elder dramatists, mention is made of the custom of quaffing wine out of similar cups. For example, in Dekker's "Wonder of a Kingdom," Torrent

says,

"Would I had ten thousand soldiers' heads,

Their skulls set all in silver; to drink healths
To his confusion who first invented war."]

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.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.

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

When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

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.

Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou art blest I'll not repine;

But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.

[These lines were printed originally in Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany. A few days before they were written, the Poet had been invited to dine at Annesley. On the infant daughter of his fair hostess being brought into the room, he started involuntarily, and with the utmost difficulty suppressed his emotion. To the sens tions of that moment we are indebted for these beautiful stanza

I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride,
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

save hope, the same.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look;

But now to tremble were a crime

We met,

and not a nerve was shook.

I saw thee gaze upon my face,

Yet meet with no confusion there :
One only feeling could'st thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.

Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake:
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart be still, or break.

November 2. 1808.1

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.2

WHEN Some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,

1 [Lord Byron wrote to his mother on this same 2d November, announcing his intention of sailing for India in March, 1809.]

2 [This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the Inscription by which the verses are preceded: