But now tears and curses, alike unavailing,

Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight.

Yet still, though we bend with a feigned resignation, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolation, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear.

Oh! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place me,

Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead.

1805.

STANZAS TO A LADY,

WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOENS.

THIS Votive pledge of fond esteem,

*

Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou 'lt prize;
It sings of Love's enchanting dream,
A theme we never can despise.

Who blames it but the envious fool,

The old and disappointed maid;

Or pupil of the prudish school,

In single sorrow doomed to fade?

*[Lord Strangford's translation of Camoens's Amatory Poems was at this period a favorite study with Byron.]

Then read, dear girl! with feeling read,
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
To thee in vain I shall not plead
In pity for the poet's woes.

He was in sooth a genuine bard;
His was no faint, fictitious flame:
Like his, may love be thy reward,
But not thy hapless fate the same.*

THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE.

'Α βάρβιτος δὲ χορδαῖς

Ερωτα μοῦνον ἠχει.

ANACREON.

AWAY with your fictions of flimsy romance;

Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove! Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow,

Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove; From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love!

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse,

Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse,

And try

the effect of the first kiss of love.

[Camoens ended in an alms-house a life of misfortunes.]

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art:

[prove, Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reI court the effusions that spring from the heart,

Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes, Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move: Arcadia displays but a region of dreams ;

What are visions like these to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,

From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove; Some portion of paradise still is on earth,

And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are

For years fleet away with the wings of the doveThe dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT
PUBLIC SCHOOL.*

WHERE are those honors, Ida! once your own,
When Probus filled your magisterial throne?

* [In March, 1805, Dr. Drury, the "Probus" of this piece, retired from his situation of head-master at Harrow, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler, the "Pomposus." Of the former Byron says in his Diary," Dr. Drury, whom I plagued sufficiently, was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and

As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,
Hailed a barbarian in her Cæsar's place,
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate.
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control;
Pomposus, by no social virtue swayed,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules,
Such as were ne'er before enforced 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, for ever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the name.

July, 1805.

TO THE DUKE OF DORSET.*

DORSET! whose early steps with mine have strayed, Exploring every path of Ida's glade;

I look upon him still as a father." Of Dr. Butler he says, treated him rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since."]

66 " I

* In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the above lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from Harrow. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighboring country:

Whom still affection taught me to defend,
And made me less a tyrant than a friend,
Though the harsh custom of our youthful band
Bade thee obey, and gave me to command; *
Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower
The gift of riches and the pride of power;
E'en now a name illustrious is thine own,
Renowned in rank, not far beneath the throne.
Yet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul
To shun fair science, or evade control,
Though passive tutors,† fearful to dispraise
The titled child, whose future breath may raise,
View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise.
When youthful parasites, who bend the knee
To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee, -
And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn
Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn, -

however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will As, on a re-perusal, I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision.

[George-John-Frederick, fourth Duke of Dorset, born November 15, 1793, was killed by a fall from his horse, while hunting near Dublin, February 22, 1815.]

* At every public school the junior boys are completely subservient to the upper forms till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly, no rank is exempt; but after a certain period, they command in turn those who succeed.

† Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant. I merely mention generally what is too often the weakness of preceptors.