Fugitive Pieces by George Gordon Noel Byron
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George Gordon Noel Byron >> Fugitive Pieces
BYRON, _October 26_, 1806.
* * * * *
REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J.M.B. PIGOT, ESQ. ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS
MISTRESS.
1.
Why PIGOT, complain,
Of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair, do you fret?
For months you may try,
But believe me a _sigh_,
Will never obtain a coquette.
2.
Would you teach her to love,
For a time seem to rove,
At first she may _frown_ in a _pet_;
But leave her awhile,
She shortly will smile,
And then you may _kiss_ your _coquette_.
3.
For such are the airs,
Of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our _homage_ a _debt_;
But a partial neglect,
Soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest _coquette_.
4.
Dissemble your pain,
And lengthen your chain,
Nor seem her _hauteur_ to _regret_,
If again you shall sigh,
She no more will deny,
That _yours_ is the rosy _coquette_.
5.
But if from false pride,
Your pangs she deride,
This whimsical virgin forget;
Some _other_ admire,
Who will _melt_ with your _fire_,
And laugh at the _little_ coquette.
6.
For _me_, I adore,
Some _twenty_ or more,
And love them most dearly, but yet,
Though my heart they enthral,
I'd abandon them all,
Did they act like your blooming _coquette_.
7.
No longer repine,
But form this design,
And break through her slight woven net;
Away with despair,
No longer forbear,
To fly from the captious coquette.
8.
Then quit her, my friend!
Your bosom defend,
Ere quite with her snares you're beset;
Lest your deep wounded heart
When incens'd by the smart,
Should lead you to _curse_ the coquette.
BYRON, _October_ 27, 1806.
* * * * *
GRANTA, A MEDLEY.
Oh! could LE SAGE's[8] demon's gift,
Be realized at my desire,
This night my trembling form he'd lift,
And place it on St. Mary's spire.
2.
Then would unroof'd old Granta's Halls
Pedantic inmates full display,
_Fellows_ who dream on _lawn_, or _stalls_,
The price of hireling votes to pay.
3.
Then would I view each rival Wight,
PETTY and PALMERSTON survey,
Who canvass now with all their might,
Against the next elective day.
4.
One on his power and place depends,
The other on the Lord knows what,
Each to some eloquence pretends,
But neither will convince by _that_.
5.
The first indeed may not demur,
Fellows are sage reflecting men,
And know preferment can occur,
But very seldom, _now_ and _then_.
6.
They know the Chancellor has got,
Some pretty livings in disposal,
Each hopes that _one_ may be his _lot_,
And therefore smiles at his proposal.
7.
Now from corruption's shameless scene,
I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later,
And view unheeded, and unseen,
The studious sons of Alma Mater.
8.
There in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes,
Sits poring by the midnight lamp,
Goes late to bed and early rises.
9.
He surely well deserves to gain them,
And all the honours of His college,
Who striving hardly to obtain them,
Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge.
10.
Who sacrifices hours of rest,
To scan precisely metres attic,
And agitates his anxious breast,
In solving problems mathematic.
11.
Who reads false quantities in Sele,[9]
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle,
And robs himself of many a meal,
In _barbarous latin_[10] doom'd to wrangle.
12.
Renouncing every pleasing page,
From authors of historic use,
Preferring to the lettered sage,
The square of the hypothenuse.[11]
13.
But harmless are these occupations,
Which hurt none but the hapless student;
Compared with other recreations,
Which bring together the imprudent.
14.
Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine,
When drunkenness and dice unite,
And every sense is steep'd in wine.
15.
Not so the methodistic crew,
Who plans of reformation lay,
In humble attitude they sue,
And for the sins of others pray.
16.
Forgetting that their pride of spirit,
And exultation in their trial;
Detracts most largely from the merit,
Of all their boasted self-denial.
17.
'Tis morn,--from these I turn my sight,
What scene is this which meets the eye,
As numerous crowd array'd in white,[12]
Across the green in numbers fly.
18.
Loud rings in air, the chapel bell,
'Tis hush'd,--what sounds are these I hear,
The organ's soft celestial swell,
Rolls deeply on the listening ear.
19.
To this is join'd the sacred song,
The royal minstrel's hallowed strain,
But _he_ who hears the _music_ long,
Will _never_ wish to _hear again_.
20.
Our choir would scarcely be excus'd,
Even as a band of raw beginners,
But mercy now must be refus'd,
To such a set of croaking sinners.
21.
If David when his toils were ended,
Had heard these blockheads sing before him,
To us his psalms had ne'er descended,
In furious mood he would have tore 'em.
22.
The luckless Israelites when taken,
By some inhuman tyrant's order,
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken,
On Babylonian river's border.
23.
But had they sung in notes like these,
Inspir'd by stratagem, or fear,
They might have set their hearts at ease,
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.
24.
_But if I write_ much longer now,
The deuce a soul _will stay to read_,
My pen is blunt, the ink is low,
'Tis almost time to _stop, indeed_.
25.
Therefore farewell, old GRANTA's spires,
No more like _Cleofas_ I fly,
No more thy theme my muse inspires,
The reader's tired, and so am I.
_October_ 28, 1806.
[Footnote 8: The Diable Boiteux of LE SAGE, where Asmodeus the Demon,
places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses
for his inspection.]
[Footnote 9: Sele's publication on Greek metres is not remarkable for
its accuracy.]
[Footnote 10: Every Cambridge man will assent to this,--the Latin of
the Schools is almost unintelligible.]
[Footnote 11: The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the
Hypothenuse, is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right
angled triangle.]
[Footnote 12: On a Saint Day, the Students wear Surplices in Chapel.]
* * * * *
TO THE SIGHING STREPHON.
Your pardon my friend,
If my rhymes did offend,
Your pardon a thousand times o'er,
From friendship I strove,
Your pangs to remove,
But I swear I will do so no more.
2.
Since your _beautiful_ maid
Your flame has repaid,
No more I your folly regret;
She's now most divine,
And I bow at the shrine,
Of this quickly reformed coquette.
3.
But still I must own,
I should never have known,
From _your verses_ what else she deserv'd,
Your pain seem'd so great,
I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd.
4.
But since the chaste kiss,
Of this magical Miss,
Such wonderful transports produce,
Since the "_world you forget,"
"When your lips once have met_,"
My Counsel will get but abuse.
5.
You say "when I rove"
"I know nothing of love,"
'Tis true I am given to range,
If I rightly remember,
I've kiss'd a good number,
But there's pleasure at least in a change.
6.
I ne'er will advance,
By the rules of romance,
To humour a whimsical fair,
Though a smile may delight,
Yet a _frown_ wont _affright_,
Or drive me to dreadful despair.
7.
Whilst my blood is thus warm,
I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonist's school;
Of this I am sure,
Was my passion so pure,
_My mistress_ must think me _a fool_.
8.
Though the kisses are sweet,
Which voluptuously meet,
Of kissing I ne'er was so fond,
As to make me forget,
Though our lips oft have met,
That still there was _something beyond_.
9.
And if I should shun,
Every _woman_ for _one_,
Whose _image_ must fill my whole breast;
Whom I must _prefer_,
And _sigh_ but for _her_,
What an _insult_ 'twould be to the _rest_!
10.
Now, Strephon, good bye,
I cannot deny,
_Your passion_ appears most absurd,
Such _love_ as you plead,
Is _pure_ love indeed,
For it _only_ consists in the _word_.
* * * * *
THE CORNELIAN.
No specious splendour of this stone,
Endears it to my memory ever,
With lustre _only once_ it shone,
But blushes modest as the giver.
2.
Some who can sneer at friendship's ties,
Have for my weakness oft reprov'd me,
Yet still the simple gift I prize,
For I am sure, the giver lov'd me.
3.
He offered it with downcast look,
As _fearful_ that I might refuse it,
I told him when the gift I took,
My _only fear_ should be to lose it.
4.
This pledge attentively I view'd,
And _sparkling_ as I held it near,
Methought one drop the stone bedew'd,
And ever since _I've lov'd a tear_.
5.
Still to adorn his humble youth,
Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield,
But he who seeks the flowers of truth,
Must quit the garden for the field.
6.
'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth,
Which beauty shews, and sheds perfume,
The flowers which yield the most of both,
In nature's wild luxuriance bloom.
7.
Had Fortune aided nature's care,
For once forgetting to be blind,
_His_ would have been an ample share,
If well proportioned to his mind.
8.
But had the Goddess clearly seen,
His form had fixed her fickle breast,
_Her_ countless hoards would _his_ have been,
And none remain'd to give the rest.
* * * * *
TO A. ----
Oh! did those eyes instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
2.
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
_Howe'er_ those orbs _may_ wildly beam,
We _must_ admire, but still despair,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
3.
When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd, that too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own.
4.
Therefore to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk,
Within those once celestial eyes.
5.
These might the boldest Sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blaze,
Thy beauty must enrapture all,
But who can dare thine ardent gaze?
6.
'Tis said that Berenice's hair,
In stars adorns the vault of heaven,
But they would ne'er permit _thee_ there,
_Thou_ would'st so far outshine the seven.
7.
For did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister lights would scarce appear,
E'en suns which systems now controul,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.
_Friday, Nov. 7th_, 1806.
* * * * *
AS THE AUTHOR WAS DISCHARGING HIS PISTOLS IN A GARDEN, TWO LADIES
PASSING NEAR THE SPOT, WERE ALARMED BY THE SOUND OF A BULLET HISSING
NEAR THEM. TO ONE OF WHOM THE FOLLOWING VERSES ON THE OCCASION, WERE
ADDRESSED THE NEXT MORNING.
1.
Doubtless, sweet girl, the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction near thy charms,
And hurtling[13] o'er thy lovely head,
Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.
2.
Surely some envious Demon's force,
Vex'd to behold such beauty here,
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.
3.
Yes! in that nearly fatal hour,
The ball obey'd some hell-born guide,
But Heaven with interposing power,
In pity turn'd the death aside.
4.
Yet, as perchance one trembling tear,
Upon that thrilling bosom fell,
Which _I_, th' unconscious cause of fear,
Extracted from its glistening cell;--
5.
Say, what dire penance can atone?
For such an outrage done to thee,
Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,
What punishment wilt thou decree?
6.
Might I perform the Judge's part,
The sentence I should scarce deplore.
It only would restore a heart,
Which but belong'd to _thee_ before.
7.
The least atonement, I can make,
Is to become no longer free,
Henceforth, I breathe, but for thy sake.
Thou shall be _all in all_ to me.
8.
But thou perhaps may'st now reject
Such expiation of my guilt,
Come then--some other mode elect?
Let it be death--or what thou wilt.
9.
Choose then relentless! and I swear,
Nought shall thy dread decree prevent,
Yet hold--one little word forbear!
Let it be aught but _banishment_.
[Footnote 13: This word is used by GRAY in his poem to the fatal
Sisters:--
"Iron sleet of arrowy shower,
_Hurtles_ through the darken'd air."
* * * * *
TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. AD LESBIAM.
Equal to Jove, that youth must be,
_Greater_ than Jove he seems to me;
Who free from Jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth from whence such music flows;
To him alike are always known,
Reserv'd for him, and him alone.
Ah Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose, but look on thee;
But at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but gazing die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres.
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support.
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head.
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.--
* * * * *
TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS, BY DOMITIUS MARSUS.
He who sublime in epic numbers roll'd,
And he who struck the softer lyre of love,
By Death's [14]_unequal_ hand alike controul'd,
Fit comrades in Elysian regions move.
[Footnote 14: The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as
Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus, at his decease.]
* * * * *
IMITATION OF TIBULLUS "SULPICIA AD CERINTUM." LIB. QUART.
Cruel Cerintus! does this fell disease,
Which racks my breast, your fickle bosom please.
Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
That I might live for love, and you again,
But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate,
By Death alone, I can avoid your hate.
* * * * *
TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. LUCTUS DE NORTE PASSERIS.
Ye Cupids droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,
Which dearer than her eyes she lov'd:
For he was gentle and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm he knew,
But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd.
And softly fluttering here, and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
But chirrup'd oft, and free from care,
Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain.
But now he's pass'd the gloomy bourn,
From whence he never can return,
His death, and Lesbia's grief I mourn,
Who sighs alas! but sighs in vain.
Oh curst be thou! devouring grave!
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,
For thou hast ta'en the bird away.
From thee, my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow,
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow,
_Thou_ art the cause of all her woe,
Receptacle of life's decay.
* * * * *
IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. TO ANNA.
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire,
Still would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;
Nor then my soul should sated be,
Still would I kiss, and cling to thee,
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever.
Still would we kiss, and kiss forever;
E'en though the number did exceed,
The yellow harvest's countless seed,
To part would be a vain endeavour,
Could I desist?--ah! never--never.
_November_ 16, 1806.
* * * * *
Printed by S. and J. RIDGE, Newark.