Fugitive Pieces by George Gordon Noel Byron
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FUGITIVE PIECES
BY
GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON
REPRODUCED FROM THE FIRST EDITION
WITH A BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
BY
MARCEL KESSEL
PUBLISHED FOR
THE FACSIMILE TEXT SOCIETY
BY
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS
NEW YORK: MCMXXXIII
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
_Fugitive Pieces_, Byron's first volume of verse, was privately
printed in the autumn of 1806, when Byron was eighteen years of age.
Passages in Byron's correspondence indicate that as early as August
of that year some of the poems were in the printers' hands and that
during the latter part of August and during September the printing
was suspended in order that Byron might give his poems an "entire
new form." The new form consisted, in part, in an enlargement; for he
wrote to Elizabeth Pigot about September that he had nearly doubled
his poems "partly by the discovery of some I conceived to be lost, and
partly by some new productions." According to Moore, _Fugitive Pieces_
was ready for distribution in November. The last poem in the volume
bears the date of November 16, 1806.
A difficulty in supposing the date of completion of the volume to be
about November 16 is that two copies contain inscriptions in Byron's
hand with earlier dates. On the copy of the late Mr. J.A. Spoor,
of Chicago, the inscription reads: "October 21st Tuesday 1806--Haec
poemata ex dono sunt--Georgii Gordon Byron, Vale." That on the
copy in the Morgan library reads: "Nov. 8, 1806, H.P.E.D.S.G.G.B.,
Southwell.--Vale!--Byron," the initials evidently standing for the
Latin words of the preceding inscription. The Latin "Vale" in each
inscription, however, suggests that it commemorates a leave-taking,
the date referring not to the presentation but to the farewell.
It has been suggested that copies of the volume were distributed
earlier than November and that some of the poems, printed separately
and distributed in fly-leaf form, were added later. This would explain
such discrepancies as the early dates of the inscriptions, and the
presence of Byron's name on pages 46 and 48 in a volume otherwise
anonymous, but there is little evidence to support it.
Moore's account of _Fugitive Pieces_ is that it was distributed in
November, Byron presenting the first copy to the Reverend J.T. Becher,
prebendary of Southwell minster, who objected to what he considered
the too voluptuous coloring of the poem "To Mary." The objection led
Byron to suppress the edition immediately, he himself burning nearly
every copy. This account is corroborated in part by Miss Pigot and in
part by Byron.
Immediately after the destruction, Byron began the preparation of a
second volume, to replace _Fugitive Pieces_. This appeared in January,
1807, as _Poems on Various Occasions_, Byron describing it as "vastly
correct and miraculously chaste." Of the 38 poems that constitute
_Fugitive Pieces_, all except "To Mary," "To Caroline," and the last
six stanzas of "To Miss E.P." were reprinted in _Poems on Various
Occasions_. Nineteen of the original 38 poems occur in Byron's third
work, _Hours of Idleness_, published in June or July, 1807. All three
editions were printed by S. and J. Ridge, booksellers of Newark,
England.
Byron himself never reprinted the poems "To Mary" or "To Caroline," or
the last six stanzas of "To Miss E.P." Except in a limited facsimile
of _Fugitive Pieces_, supervised by H. Buxton Forman in 1886, "To
Mary" has never been reprinted--not even in supposedly complete
editions of Byron's works.
Only four copies of _Fugitive Pieces_ are known to-day, and one of
these is incomplete. The copy from which the present facsimile is made
was originally given by Byron to Becher and preserved by him in spite
of his objections to the poem "To Mary." From Becher's family it
passed into the possession of Mr. Faulkner, of Louth, solicitor for
the Becher family. In 1885 it was in the possession of H.W. Ball,
antiquary and bookseller of Barton-on-Humber, who sold it to H. Buxton
Forman. Forman used it for his facsimile, but incorporated certain
manuscript corrections of the original, so that his facsimile is not
exact. The original is now owned by Mr. Thomas J. Wise, who has kindly
permitted its use for the present facsimile.
Of the other three copies, the incomplete one, lacking pages 17-20
("To Mary") and all after page 58, is in the possession of the family
of the late Mr. H.C. Roe, of Nottingham. This was originally sent by
Byron to Pigot, then studying medicine in Edinburgh. Byron later asked
Pigot to destroy the copy and Pigot seems to have complied so far
as to tear out the offending verses "To Mary." For many years it was
thought that only the Pigot and Becher copies had escaped destruction
at Byron's hands. But another complete copy came to light in 1907
and is now in the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York. This contains
numerous manuscript corrections and alterations, and seems to have
been used as a proof copy for _Poems on Various Occasions_ (not, as
has sometimes been stated, for _Hours of Idleness_). A fourth copy,
also complete, was offered at public sale in 1912, and is now in the
hands of the executors of the late Mr. J.A. Spoor, of Chicago.
The present facsimile is an exact photographic reproduction of the
text with all typographical and other errors as in the original,
except that certain manuscript corrections which appear in the
original perforce appear in the photographic reproduction, as follows:
Page 3, _To E_.... line 2. "me" has been inserted by hand.
Page 8, stanza 5, line 2. A letter ("s"?) has been erased
between "so" and "oft," and
the second "e" of "meets" has
been inserted to replace "l."
Page 14, line 10. "j" in "jargon" has been
inserted by hand.
Page 19, stanza (11), line 1. "night" was originally printed
"might," the "m" later changed
to "n" by erasure.
Page 24, stanza 4, line 4. "s" in "setting" has been
inserted by hand.
Page 25, _Thoughts Suggested by_ "e" in "tremble" has been
_a College Examination_, inserted, correcting "trimble."
line 4.
Page 31, line 4. "f" in "fast" was originally
"l," but was changed by hand.
The text has been collated with that in the Morgan library, and
except for later corrections made in ink in the Morgan copy, the only
differences noted are as follows:
1.) On p. 5, in the first line of the footnote, the Morgan
copy reads "piece" where the Wise copy reads "p*ece," the
"[dotless i]" lacking.
2.) The two pages of signature M are incorrectly numbered in
the Wise copy as "41, 41," this copy having no page numbered
42; and are incorrectly numbered in the Morgan copy as "40,
42," the latter copy having no page numbered 41. The text of
these pages is identical.
M.K.
_FUGITIVE PIECES._
TO
THOSE FRIENDS,
AT
WHOSE REQUEST THEY WERE PRINTED,
FOR WHOSE
AMUSEMENT OR APPROBATION
THEY ARE
SOLELY INTENDED;
These TRIFLES are respectfully dedicated,
BY THE
_AUTHOR_.
As these POEMS are never intended to meet the public eye, no apology
is necessary for the form in which they now appear. They are printed
merely for the perusal of a few friends to whom they are dedicated;
who will look upon them with indulgence; and as most of them were,
composed between the age of 15 and 17, their defects will be pardoned
or forgotten, in the youth and inexperience of the WRITER.
* * * * *
_FUGITIVE PIECES._
* * * * *
ON LEAVING N--ST--D.
Through the cracks in these battlements loud the winds whistle,
For the hall of my fathers is gone to decay;
And in yon once gay garden the hemlock and thistle
Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way.
Of the barons of old, who once proudly to battle
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain;
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
No more does old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame in the breast, for the war laurell'd wreath,
Near Askalon's Towers John of Horiston[1] slumbers,
Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel by death.
Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy,
For the safety of Edward and ENGLAND they fell,
My fathers! the tears of your country redress ye,
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.
On [2]Marston with Rupert[3] 'gainst traitors contending,
Four Brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field
For Charles the Martyr their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty scal'd.
Shades of heroes farewell! your descendant departing,
From the seat of his ancestors, bids ye adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he'll think upon glory, and you.
Though a tear dims his eye at this sad separation,
'Tis nature, not fear, which commands his regret;
Far distant he goes with the same emulation,
In the grave, he alone can his fathers forget.
Your fame, and your memory, still will he cherish,
He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown;
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish,
When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own.
1803.
[Footnote 1: Horiston Castle, in _Derbyshire_, an ancient seat of the
B--r--n family.]
[Footnote 2: The battle of _Marston Moor_, where the adherents of
CHARLES I. were defeated.]
[Footnote 3: Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to CHARLES I. He
afterwards commanded the Fleet, in the Reign of CHARLES II.]
* * * * *
TO E----.
Let Folly smile, to view the names
Of thee and me in friendship twin'd,
Yet virtue will have greater claims
To love, than rank with vice combin'd.
And though unequal is _thy_ fate,
Since title deck'd my higher birth;
Yet envy not this gaudy state,
_Thine_ is the pride of modest worth.
Our _souls_ at least congenial meet,
Nor can _thy_ lot _my_ rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet,
Since worth of rank supplies the place.
_November_, 1802.
* * * * *
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR AND VERY DEAR TO
HIM.
* * * * *
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
2.
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
That clay where once such animation beam'd;
The king of terrors seiz'd her as his prey,
Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.
3.
Oh! could that king of terrors pity feel,
Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate,
Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
Not here the muse her virtues would relate.
4.
But wherefore weep! her matchless spirit soars,
Beyond where aplendid shines the orb of day.
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers,
Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.
5.
And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign!
And madly God-like Providence accuse!
Ah! no far fly from me attempts so vain,
I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.
6.
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face;
Still they call forth my warm affection's tear.
Such sorrow brings me honour, not disgrace.[4]
1802.
[Footnote 4: The Author claims the indulgence of the reader, more for
this piece, than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was
written at an earlier period than the rest, (being composed at the
age of 14) and his first Essay, be preferred submitting it to the
indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either
addition or alteration.]
* * * * *
TO D. ----
In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp,
A friend whom death alone could sever,
But envy with malignant grasp,
Has torn thee from my breast for ever.
2.
True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_,
But in my _heart_ thou keep'st thy seat;
There, there, thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
3.
And when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On _thy dear_ breast I'll lay my head,
Without _thee_! _where_ would be _my Heaven?_
_February_, 1803.
* * * * *
TO ----
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Suffus'd in tears implore to stay;
And heard _unmov'd_, thy plenteous sighs,
Which said far more than words could say.
Though deep the grief, _thy_ tears exprest,
When love, and hope, lay _both_ o'erthrown,
Yet still, my girl, _this_ bleeding breast,
Throbb'd with deep sorrow, as _thine own_.
But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
When _thy_ sweet lips where join'd to mine;
The tears that from _my_ eye-lids flow'd,
Were lost in those which fell from _thine_.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek,
_Thy_ gushing tears had quench'd its flame,
And as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
In _sighs alone_ it breath'd my name.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore;
Remembrance only can remain,
But _that_, will make us weep the more.
Again, thou best belov'd, adieu!
Ah! if thou canst o'ercome regret,
Nor let thy mind past joys review,
Our only _hope_ is to _forget_.
1805.
* * * * *
TO CAROLINE.
You say you love, and yet your eye
No symptom of that love conveys,
You say you love, yet know not why,
Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
2.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow,
With me alone it joy could know,
Or feel with me the listless woe,
Which racks my heart when far from thee.
3.
Whene'er we meet my blushes rise,
And mantle through my purpled cheek,
But yet no blush to mine replies,
Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak.
4.
Your voice alone declares your flame,
And though so sweet it breaths my name;
Our passions still are not the same,
Alas! you cannot love like me.
5.
For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow,
And though so oft it meets my kiss,
It burns with no responsive glow,
Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
6.
Ah! what are words to love like mine,
Though uttered by a voice like thine,
I still in murmurs must repine,
And think that love can ne'er be true.
7.
Which meets me with no joyous sign,
Without a sigh which bids adieu;
How different is my love from thine,
How keen my grief when leaving you.
8.
Your image fills my anxious breast,
Till day declines adown the West,
And when, at night, I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form I view.
9.
'Tis then your breast, no longer cold,
With equal ardour seems to burn,
While close your arms around me fold,
Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
10.
Ah! would these joyous moments last;
Vain HOPE! the gay delusions past,
That voice!--ah! no, 'tis but the blast,
Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
11.
But when _awake_, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptur'd all your charms,
So chill's the pressure of your cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.
12.
If thus, when to my heart embrac'd,
No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd,
You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my girl, you _do not love_.
* * * * *
TO MARIA ----
Since now the hour is come at last,
When you must quit your anxious lover,
Since now, our dream of bliss is past,
One pang, my girl, and all is over.
Alas! that pang will be severe,
Which bids us part, to meet no more;
Which tears me far from _one_ so dear,
_Departing_ for a distant shore.
Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,
And joy will mingle with our tears;
When thinking on these ancient towers,
The shelter of our infant years.
Where from this gothic casement's height,
We view'd the lake, the park, the dell,
And still though tears obstruct our sight,
We lingering look a last farewell.--
O'er fields, through which we us'd to run,
And spend the hours in childish play,
O'er shades where, when our race was done,
Reposing on my breast you lay,
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,
Forgot to scare the hovering flies,
Yet envied every fly the kiss,
It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes.
See still the little painted _bark_,
In which I row'd you o'er the lake;
See there, high waving o'er the park,
The _elm_, I clamber'd for your sake.
These times are past, our joys are gone,
You leave me, leave this happy vale;
These scenes, I must retrace alone,
Without thee, what will they avail.
Who can conceive, who has not prov'd,
The anguish of a last embrace?
When torn from all you fondly lov'd,
You bid a long adieu to peace.
_This_ is the deepest of our woes,
For _this_, these tears our cheeks bedew,
This is of love the final close,
Oh GOD! the fondest, _last_ adieu!
1805.
* * * * *
FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF
AESCHYLUS.
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne,
Both Gods and mortals homage pay,
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey.
Oft shall the sacred victim fall,
In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall;
My voice shall raise no impious strain,
'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.
* * * * *
How different now thy joyless fate,
Since first Hesione thy bride,
When plac'd aloft in godlike state,
The blushing beauty by thy side.
Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd,
And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd;
The nymphs and Tritons danc'd around,
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd nor Jove relentless frown'd.
HARROW, _December_ 1, 1804.
* * * * *
LINES IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN," BY J.J.
ROUSSEAU, FOUNDED ON FACTS.
Away, away,--your flattering arts,
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And _you_ will _smile_ at their believing,
And _they_ shall _weep_ at your deceiving.
_ANSWER TO THE ABOVE, ADDRESS'D TO MISS ----_.
Dear simple girl those flattering arts,
(From which you'd guard frail female hearts,)
Exist but in imagination,
Mere phantoms of your own creation;
For he who sees that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face;
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee;
Once let you at your mirror glance,
You'll there descry that elegance,
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises.--
Then he who tells you of your beauty,
Believe me only does his duty;
Ah! fly not from the candid youth,
It is not flattery, but truth.
_July_, 1804.
* * * * *
ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS, AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL.
Where are those honours? IDA, once your own,
When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne;
As ancient Rome fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a Barbarian in her Caesar's place;
So you degenerate share as hard a fate,
And seat _Pomposus_, where your _Probus_ sate.
Of narrow brain, but of a narrower soul,
Pomposus, holds you in his harsh controul;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new fangled rules,
(Such as were ne'er before beheld in schools,)
Mistaking _pedantry_, for _learning's_ laws,
He governs, sanctioned but by self applause.
With him, the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated IDA! soon must stamp your doom;
Like her o'erthrown, forever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the name.
HARROW, _July_, 1805.
* * * * *
EPITAPH ON A BELOVED FRIEND.
Oh Boy! forever lov'd, for ever dear,
What fruitless tears have wash'd thy honour'd bier;
What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath,
Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs of death.
Could tears have turn'd the tyrant in his course,
Could sighs have check'd his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey.
Thou still had'st liv'd, to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight:
Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born,
No titles did thy humble name adorn,
To me, far dearer, was thy artless love,
Than all the joys, wealth, fame, and friends could prove.
For thee alone I liv'd, or wish'd to live,
(Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive)
Heart broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb;
Where this frail form compos'd in endless rest,
I'll make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life, I've laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead;
This life resign'd without one parting sigh,
Together in one bed of earth we'll lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given,
Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven.
HARROW, 1803.
* * * * *
ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, WHEN DYING.
Animula! vagula, Blandula,
Hospes, comesque, corporis,
Quoe nunc abibis in Loca?
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec ut soles dabis Jocos.
_TRANSLATION_.
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite!
Friend and associate of this clay,
To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight?
No more with wonted humour gay,
But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.
1806.
* * * * *
TO MARY.
Rack'd by the flames of jealous rage,
By all her torments deeply curst,
Of hell-born passions far the worst,
What hope my pangs can now assuage?
2.
I tore me from thy circling arms,
To madness fir'd by doubts and fears,
Heedless of thy suspicious tears,
Nor feeling for thy feign'd alarms.
3.
Resigning every thought of bliss,
Forever, from your love I go,
Reckless of all the tears that flow,
Disdaining thy polluted kiss.
4.
No more that bosom heaves for me,
On it another seeks repose,
Another riot's on its snows,
Our bonds are broken, both are free.
5.
No more with mutual love we burn,
No more the genial couch we bless,
Dissolving in the fond caress;
Our love o'erthrown will ne'er return.
6.
Though love than ours could ne'er be truer,
Yet flames too fierce themselves destroy,
Embraces oft repeated cloy,
_Ours_ came too _frequent_, to endure.
7.
You quickly sought a second lover,
And I too proud to share a heart,
Where once I held the _whole_, not _part_,
Another mistress must discover.
8.
Though not the _first_ one, who hast blest me,
Yet I will own, you was the dearest,
The one, unto my bosom nearest;
So I conceiv'd, when I possest thee.
9.
Even now I cannot well forget thee,
And though no more in folds of pleasure,
Kiss follows kiss in countless measure,
I hope _you_ sometimes will regret me.
10.
And smile to think how oft were done,
What prudes declare a sin to act is,
And never but in darkness practice,
Fearing to trust the tell-tale sun.
11.
And wisely therefore night prefer,
Whose dusky mantle veils their fears,
Of _this_, and _that_, of eyes and ears,
Affording shades to those that err.
12.
Now, by my foul, 'tis most delight
To view each other panting, dying.
In love's _extatic posture_ lying,
Grateful to _feeling_, as to _sight_.
13.
And had the glaring God of Day,
(As formerly of Mars and Venus)
Divulg'd the joys which pass'd between us,
Regardless of his _peeping_ ray.
14.
Of love admiring such a _sample_,
The Gods and Goddesses descending,
Had never fancied us offending,
But _wisely_ followed _our example_.
* * * * *
When to their airy hall, my father's voice,
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice,
When pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride,
Or dark in mist, descend the mountain's side;
Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns,
To mark the spot, where earth to earth returns.
No lengthen'd scroll of virtue, and renown,
My _epitaph_, shall be my name alone;
If _that_ with honour fails to crown my clay,
Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay;
_That_, only _that_, shall single out the shot,
By _that_ remember'd, or fore'er forgot.--
1803.
* * * * *
TO ----