'THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME'
THERE was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown and thus unfelt by thine,
None, none hath sunk so deep as this
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes; my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 't is doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.
Yes! 't is a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
June 10, 1808. [First published, 1809.]
'AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW?'
AND wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so
I would not give that bosom pain.
My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of rest.
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine;
And for awhile my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt for mine.
And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.
I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
In rapture's wild reality.
Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore,
had probably belonged to some jolly friar or
monk of the abbey, about the time it was de-
monasteried. Observing it to be of giant size,
and in a perfect state of preservation, a strange
fancy seized me of having it set and mounted
as a drinking cup. I accordingly sent it to
town, and it returned with a very high polish,
and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshell.']
START not-nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.
I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee;
I died: let earth my bones resign:
Fill up thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.
Better to hold the sparkling grape,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh, man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with
disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit !
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush
for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy Pass on-it honours none you wish to
And circle in the goblet's shape
The drink of Gods, than reptile's food.
Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?
Quaff while thou canst: another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.
Why not? since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.
Newstead Abbey, 1808.
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONU-
MENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND
DOG
WHEN some proud son of man returns to
earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp
of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have
been.
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
[These lines were written after dining at Annesley with Mr. and Mrs. Chaworth Musters. On the infant daughter of his fair hostess being brought into the room, he started involuntarily, and with the utmost difficulty suppressed his emotion.]
WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband 's blest- and 't will impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass-Oh! how my heart
Would hate him, if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,
And they were all to love and me.
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