When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, "T is comfort still,' I faintly said, 'That Thyrza cannot know my pains: ' Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 't is idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!

My Thyrza's pledge in better days,

40

When love and life alike were new! How different now thou meet'st my gaze ! How tinged by time with sorrow's hue! The heart that gave itself with thee Is silent-ah, were mine as still! Though cold as e'en the dead can be, It feels, it sickens with the chill.

Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
Though painful, welcome to my breast!
Still, still, preserve that love unbroken, 51
Or break the heart to which thou 'rt
press'd!

Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled:
Oh! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead?
[First published, 1812.]

167

20

Who didst not change through all the past
And canst not alter now.

The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:

And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine:

The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine.

The silence of that dreamless sleep

I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine

That all those charms have pass'd away,
I might have watch'd through long decay.

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last,

Extinguish'd, not decay'd;

As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed; To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.

31

40

50

60

IF sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade,
The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before.

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile

I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile, Unfaithful to thy Memory! Nor deem that memory less dear, That then I seem not to repine; I would not fools should overhear One sigh that should be wholly thine.

If not the goblet pass unquaff'd,

It is not drain'd to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drown'd a single thought of thee.

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20

[Drury-Lane Theatre had burned down February 24, 1809, and Byron had himself viewed the fire from a house-top in Covent Garden.' The managers advertised a general competition of addresses for the opening of the restored edifice, and scores of poems, all intolerably poor, were submitted. Lord Holland, in despair, finally appealed to Byron for an address, and the following verses of his were spoken by Mr. Elliston. The Rejected Addresses has made the occasion ever memorable.]

IN one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Bow'd to the dust the Drama's tower of pride;

169

In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign.

Ye who beheld (oh! sight admired and mourn'd,

Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!), Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven,

Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven;

Saw the long column of revolving flames Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,

10

While thousands, throng'd around the burning dome,

Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their home,

As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone

The skies with lightnings awful as their own, Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her

fall;

Say-shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Rear'd where once rose the mightiest in our isle,

Know the same favour which the former

knew,

A shrine for Shakspeare-worthy him and you?

Yes it shall be

name

20

the magic of that

Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;

On the same spot still consecrates the

scene,

And bids the Drama be where she hath been:

This fabric's birth attests the potent spellIndulge our honest pride, and say, How well!

Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old! Britons our judges, Nature for our guide, Still may we please - long, long may you preside!

6

PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS

BY DR. PLAGIARY

[Among the rejected addresses was one by Dr. Busby which his son attempted to recite on the stage by force on October 14. He was taken into custody for his pains, but on the next night Dr. Busby obtained a hearing for his son. Byron in the satire below ridicules the ineffective delivery of the young man whose voice was quite 'inarticulate.' He introduces the verses with these words:] Half stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by Master B. at the opening of the next new theatre. Stolen parts marked with the inverted commas of quotation - thus