Vain was the man, and false as vain,
Who said 'Were he ordain'd to run
His long career of life again,
He would do all that he had done.'
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birthdays speaks to me;
Far otherwise of time it tells,
Lavish'd unwisely-carelessly-
Of counsel mock'd, of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines ;-
Of nursing many a wrong desire—
Of wandering after love too far,
And taking every meteor fire,
That cross'd my pathway, for his star!
All this it tells, and, could I trace
The imperfect picture o'er again,
With power to add, retouch, efface,
The lights and shades, the joy and pain,
How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away :-
All but that freedom of the mind,
Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships, in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving ark,
Where love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark,
And comfortless, and stormy round!
LORD BYRON'S LATEST VERSES.
“ Missolonghi, Jan. 23, 1824.
"On this day I completed my thirty-sixth year."
"Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it has ceased to move;
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love.
My days are in the yellow leaf,
The flowers and fruits of love are gone,
The worm, the canker, and the grief,
Are mine alone.
The fire that in my bosom preys,
Is like to some volcanic isle,
No torch is kindled at its blaze ;-
A funeral pile.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain,
And power of love, I cannot share;
But wear the chain.
But 'tis not here-it is not here
Such thoughts should shake my soul; nor nowWhere glory seals the hero's bier,
The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece around us see;
The Spartan borne upon his shield
Was not more free.
LORD BYRON'S LATEST VERSES.
Awake! not Greece-she is awake!
Awake, my spirit,-think through whom
My life blood tastes its parent lake—
And then strike home!
I tread reviving passions down,
Unworthy Manhood-unto thee,
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.
If thou regret thy youth,--why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here-up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out-less often sought than found—
A soldier's grave, for thee the best,
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.
MORN on the waters !—and, purple and bright,
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light;
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on;
Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,
And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale;
The winds come around her, in murmur and song,
And the surges rejoice as they bear her along;
See! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds,
And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds :
Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray,
Over the waters,-away, and away!
Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part,
Passing away, like a dream of the heart!
Who-as the beautiful pageant sweeps by,
Music around her, and sunshine on high-
Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow,
Oh! there be hearts that are breaking below!
Night on the waves!—and the moon is on high,
Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky,
Treading its depths in the power of her might,
And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light!
Look to the waters !-asleep on their breast,
Seems not the ship like an island of rest?
Bright and alone on the shadowy main,
Like a heart-cherish'd home on some desolate plain!
Who-as she smiles in the silvery light,
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night,
Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky,
A phantom of beauty-could deem with a sigh,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,
And that souls that are smitten lie bursting within?
Who-as he watches her silently gliding-
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
Hearts which are parted and broken for ever!
Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave,
The deathbed of hope, or the young spirit's grave?
'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song!
Gaily we glide, in the gaze of the world,
With streamers afloat, and with canvass unfurl'd;
All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes,
Yet charter'd by sorrow, and freighted with sighs
Fading and false is the aspect it wears,
As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears; And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know,
Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below;
Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'd and o'er.
A WHITE sail gleaming on the flood,
And the bright-orb'd sun on high,
Are all that break the solitude
Of the circling sea and sky;-
Nor cloud, nor cape is imaged there;
Nor isle of ocean, nor of air.
Led by the magnet o'er the tides,
That bark her path explores,-
Sure as unerring instinct guides
The bird to unseen shores:
With wings that o'er the waves expand,
She wanders to a viewless land.
Yet not alone;-on ocean's breast,
Though no green islet glows,
No sweet, refreshing spot of rest,
Where fancy may repose;
Nor rock, nor hill, nor tower, nor tree,
Breaks the blank solitude of sea ;-
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