STANZAS FOR MUSIC.*
["THERE'S NOT A JOY THE WORLD CAN GIVE," &c.]
"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."
THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes
away,
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull
decay;
"T is not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which
fades so fast,
[past.
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be
[ness
Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happi-
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess :
The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain
The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch
again.
Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes
down ;
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,
And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is where the ice ap-
pears.
[breast,
Though wit
may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope
of rest;
'T is but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath,
green and wildly fresh without, but worn and
neath.
All
―
Oh could I feel as I have felt, -
or be what have been,
Or
weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd
scene:
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
So, midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow
to me.
March, 1815.
*These verses were given by Lord Byron to Mr Power, of the Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
["THERE BE NONE OF BEAUTY'S DAUGHTERS."]
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming.
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep; Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep :
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
"Alas! they had been friends in Youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth,
And constancy lives in realms above:
And Life is thorny; and youth is vain:
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain :
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been."
FARE thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show!
Then thou would'st at last discover
'T was not well to spurn
it so.
Though the world for this commend thee
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe:
Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
Still thine own its life retaineth
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth that we no more may meet.
Is
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou would solace gather
99
When our child's first accents flow, Wilt thou teach her to say "Father! Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is press'd,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had bless'd!
"Honest
Honest Iago!
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."
BORN in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;
Next for some gracious service unexpress'd,
And from its wages only to be guess'd-
Raised from the toilet to the table, where
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd,
She dines from off the plate she lately wash'd.
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie
The genial confidante, and general spy-
Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess
An only infant's earliest governess!
(1) Mrs, Charlmont.
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