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The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my browIt felt like the warning
Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well :Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
4. In secret we met
In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
After long years,
With silence and tears.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.*
“ O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
1. THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes
away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's
dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone,
which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth
itself be past.
Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of
happiness, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in
vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never
* These Verses were given by Lord Byron to. Mr. Power, Strand, who has published them, with very beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson.
Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself
comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our
tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the
4. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth
distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their
former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and
Oh could I feel as I have felt,
,-or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a
vanish'd scene : As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish
though they be, So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lulled winds seem dreaming.
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep ;
As an infant's asleep:
FARE THEE WELL.
“ Alas! they had been friends in Youth;
" But never either found another
FARE thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover
'Twas not well to spurn it so.