What though our "nation's foes" lament the fate, Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. 1 [The "illiberal impromptu" appeared in the Morning Post, and Lord Byron's "reply" in the Morning Chronicle.] THE TEAR. "O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.". -Gray. WHEN Friendship or Love our sympathies move, Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile, Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul-telling eye Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below, The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale, As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his grave, The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath In Glory's romantic career; But he raises the foe when in battle laid low, If with high-bounding pride he return to his bride, All his toils are repaid when, embracing the maid, Sweet scene of my youth!1 seat of Friendship and Truth, Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more, In the shade of her bower I remember the hour By another possest, may she live ever blest! With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine, Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart, If again we shall meet in this rural retreat, When my soul wings her flight to the regions of night, As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes consume, May no marble bestow the splendour of woe No fiction of fame shall blazon my name, I Harrow. October 26th, 1806. REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS. WHY, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain, For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove; But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile, For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs, Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain, If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny, If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride, Some other admire, who will melt with your fire, For me, I adore some twenty or more, And love them most dearly; but yet, Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all, No longer repine, adopt this design, And break through her slight-woven net; Away with despair, no longer forbear To fly from the captious coquette. Then quit her, my friend! your bosom defend, Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by the smart, Should lead you to curse the coquette. October 27th, 1806. TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. YOUR pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did offend; From friendship I strove your pangs to remove, Since your beautiful maid your flame has repaid, She's now most divine, and I bow at the shrine Yet still, I must own, I should never have known Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical miss Since the "world you forget, when your lips once have met," My counsel will get but abuse. |