TRANSLATION OF THE NURSE'S DOLE IN THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES
Oh how I wish that an embargo
Had kept in port the good ship Argo!
Who, still unlaunched from Grecian docks,
Had never passed the Azure rocks;
But now I fear her trip will be a
Damn'd business for my Miss Medea, etc., etc.
June, 1810.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 227.]
MY EPITAPH.
Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove,
To keep my lamp in strongly strove;
But Romanelli was so stout,
He beat all three – and
blew it
out.
October, 1810.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 240.]
SUBSTITUTE FOR AN EPITAPH
Kind Reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harold lies – but where's his Epitaph?
If such you seek, try Westminster, and view
Ten thousand just as fit for him as you.
Athens, 1810.
[First published, Lord Byron's Works, 1832, ix. 4.]
EPITAPH FOR JOSEPH BLACKET, LATE POET AND SHOEMAKER.
Stranger! behold, interred together,
The
souls of learning and of leather.
Poor Joe is gone, but left his
all:
You'll find his relics in a
stall.
His works were neat, and often found
Well stitched, and with
morocco bound.
Tread lightly – where the bard is laid —
He cannot mend the shoe he made;
Yet is he happy in his hole,
With verse immortal as his
sole.
But still to business he held fast,
And stuck to Phoebus to the
last.
Then who shall say so good a fellow
Was only "leather and prunella?"
For character – he did not lack it;
And if he did, 'twere shame to "Black-it."
Malta, May 16, 1811.
[First published, Lord Byron's Works, 1832, ix. 10.]
ON MOORE'S LAST OPERATIC FARCE, OR FARCICAL OPERA.
Good plays are scarce,
So Moore writes
farce:
The poet's fame grows brittle—
We knew before
That
Little's Moore,
But now't is Moore that's
little.
September 14, 1811.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 295 (note).]
[R. C. DALLAS.]
Yes! wisdom shines in all his mien,
Which would so captivate, I ween,
Wisdom's own goddess Pallas;
That she'd discard her fav'rite owl,
And take for pet a brother fowl,
Sagacious R. C. Dallas.
[First published, Life, Writings, Opinions, etc., 1825, ii. 192.]
AN ODE TO THE FRAMERS OF THE FRAME BILL.
1
Oh well done Lord E – n! and better done R – r!
Britannia must prosper with councils like yours;
Hawkesbury, Harrowby, help you to guide her,
Whose remedy only must kill ere it cures:
Those villains; the Weavers, are all grown refractory,
Asking some succour for Charity's sake —
So hang them in clusters round each Manufactory,
That will at once put an end to mistake.
2
The rascals, perhaps, may betake them to robbing,
The dogs to be sure have got nothing to eat —
So if we can hang them for breaking a bobbin,
'T will save all the Government's money and meat:
Men are more easily made than machinery —
Stockings fetch better prices than lives —
Gibbets on Sherwood will heighten the scenery,
Shewing how Commerce, how Liberty thrives!
3
Justice is now in pursuit of the wretches,
Grenadiers, Volunteers, Bow-street Police,
Twenty-two Regiments, a score of Jack Ketches,
Three of the Quorum and two of the Peace;
Some Lords, to be sure, would have summoned the Judges,
To take their opinion, but that they ne'er shall,
For Liverpool such a concession begrudges,
So now they're condemned by no Judges at all.
4
Some folks for certain have thought it was shocking,
When Famine appeals and when Poverty groans,
That Life should be valued at less than a stocking,
And breaking of frames lead to breaking of bones.
If it should prove so, I trust, by this token,
(And who will refuse to partake in the hope?)
That the frames of the fools may be first to be
broken,
Who, when asked for a
remedy, sent down a
rope.
[First published, Morning Chronicle, Monday, March 2, 1812.]
[See a Political Ode by Lord Byron, hitherto unknown as his production, London, John Pearson, 46, Pall Mall, 1880, 8º. See, too, Mr. Pearson's prefatory Note, pp. 5, etc.]
TO THE HONBLE MRS GEORGE LAMB.
1
The sacred song that on mine ear
Yet vibrates from that voice of thine,
I heard, before, from one so dear —
'T is strange it still appears divine.
2
But, oh! so sweet that look and tone
To her and thee alike is given;
It seemed as if for me alone
That both had been recalled from Heaven!
3
And though I never can redeem
The vision thus endeared to me;
I scarcely can regret my dream,
When realised again by thee.
1812.
[First published in The Two Duchesses, by Vere Foster, 1898, p. 374.]
[LA REVANCHE.]
1
There is no more for me to hope,
There is no more for thee to fear;
And, if I give my Sorrow scope,
That Sorrow thou shalt never hear.
Why did I hold thy love so dear?
Why shed for such a heart one tear?
Let deep and dreary silence be
My only memory of thee!
2
When all are fled who flatter now,
Save thoughts which will not flatter then;
And thou recall'st the broken vow
To him who must not love again —
Each hour of now forgotten years
Thou, then, shalt number with thy tears;
And every drop of grief shall be
A vain remembrancer of me!
Undated, ?1812.
[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]
TO THOMAS MOORE.
WRITTEN THE EVENING BEFORE HIS VISIT TO MR. LEIGH HUNT IN HORSEMONGER LANE GAOL, MAY 19, 1813
Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,
Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown, —
For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,
Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Two-penny Post Bag;
But now to my letter – to
yours 'tis an answer —
To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,
All ready and dressed for proceeding to spunge on
(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon —
Pray Phoebus at length our political malice
May not get us lodgings within the same palace!
I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,
And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;
And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,
Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote;
But to-morrow, at four, we will both play the
Scurra,
And you'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 401.]
ON LORD THURLOW'S POEMS.
1
When Thurlow this damned nonsense sent,
(I hope I am not violent)
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
2
And since not even our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise —
Why would they let him print his lays?
3
4
5
To me, divine Apollo, grant – O!
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
6
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining, —
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
June 2, 1813.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 396.]
TO LORD THURLOW.
1
"I lay my branch of laurel down."
"Thou lay thy branch of laurel down!"
Why, what thou'st stole is not enow;
And, were it lawfully thine own,
Does Rogers want it most, or thou?
Keep to thyself thy withered bough,
Or send it back to Doctor Donne:
Were justice done to both, I trow,
He'd have but little, and thou – none.
2
"Then, thus, to form Apollo's crown."
A crown! why, twist it how you will,
Thy chaplet must be foolscap still.
When next you visit Delphi's town,
Enquire amongst your fellow-lodgers,
They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown,
Some years before your birth, to Rogers.
3
"
Let every other bring his own."
When coals to Newcastle are carried,
And owls sent to Athens, as wonders,
From his spouse when the Regent's unmarried,
Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders;
When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel,
When Castlereagh's wife has an heir,
Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel,
And thou shalt have plenty to spare.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 397.]
THE DEVIL'S DRIVE.
1
The Devil returned to Hell by two,
And he stayed at home till five;
When he dined on some homicides done in ragoût,
And a rebel or so in an Irish stew,
And sausages made of a self-slain Jew,
And bethought himself what next to do,
"And," quoth he, "I'll take a drive.
I walked in the morning, I'll ride to-night;
In darkness my children take most delight,10
And I'll see how my favourites thrive.
2
"And what shall I ride in?" quoth Lucifer, then —
"If I followed my taste, indeed,
I should mount in a waggon of wounded men,
And smile to see them bleed.
But these will be furnished again and again,
And at present my purpose is speed;
To see my manor as much as I may,
And watch that no souls shall be poached away.
3
"I have a state-coach at Carlton House,20
A chariot in Seymour-place;
But they're lent to two friends, who make me amends
By driving my favourite pace:
And they handle their reins with such a grace,
I have something for both at the end of the race.
4
"So now for the earth to take my chance,"
Then up to the earth sprung he;
And making a jump from Moscow to France,
He stepped across the sea,
And rested his hoof on a turnpike road,30
No very great way from a Bishop's abode.
5
But first as he flew, I forgot to say,
That he hovered a moment upon his way,
To look upon Leipsic plain;
And so sweet to his eye was its sulphury glare,
And so soft to his ear was the cry of despair,
That he perched on a mountain of slain;
And he gazed with delight from its growing height,
Nor often on earth had he seen such a sight,
Nor his work done half as well:40
For the field ran so red with the blood of the dead,
That it blushed like the waves of Hell!
Then loudly, and wildly, and long laughed he:
"Methinks they have little need here of me!"
6
Long he looked down on the hosts of each clime,
While the warriors hand to hand were —
Gaul – Austrian and Muscovite heroes sublime,
And – (Muse of Fitzgerald arise with a rhyme!)
A quantity of Landwehr!
Gladness was there,50
For the men of all might and the monarchs of earth,
There met for the wolf and the worm to make mirth,
And a feast for the fowls of the Air!
7
But he turned aside and looked from the ridge
Of hills along the river,
And the best thing he saw was a broken bridge,
Which a Corporal chose to shiver;
Though an Emperor's taste was displeased with his haste,
The Devil he thought it clever;
And he laughed again in a lighter strain,60
O'er the torrent swoln and rainy,
When he saw "on a fiery steed" Prince Pon,
In taking care of Number One—
Get drowned with a great many!
8
But the softest note that soothed his ear
Was the sound of a widow sighing;
And the sweetest sight was the icy tear,
Which Horror froze in the blue eye clear
Of a maid by her lover lying —
As round her fell her long fair hair,70
And she looked to Heaven with that frenzied air
Which seemed to ask if a God were there!
And stretched by the wall of a ruined hut,
With its hollow cheek, and eyes half shut,
A child of Famine dying:
And the carnage begun, when resistance is done,
And the fall of the vainly flying!
9
Then he gazed on a town by besiegers taken,
Nor cared he who were winning;
But he saw an old maid, for years forsaken,80
Get up and leave her spinning;
And she looked in her glass, and to one that did pass,
She said – "pray are the rapes beginning?"
10
But the Devil has reached our cliffs so white,
And what did he there, I pray?
If his eyes were good, he but saw by night
What we see every day;
But he made a tour and kept a journal
Of all the wondrous sights nocturnal,
And he sold it in shares to the Men of the Row,90
Who bid pretty well – but they cheated him, though!
11
The Devil first saw, as he thought, the Mail,
Its coachman and his coat;
So instead of a pistol he cocked his tail,
And seized him by the throat;
"Aha!" quoth he, "what have we here?
'T is a new barouche, and an ancient peer!"
12
So he sat him on his box again,
And bade him have no fear,
But be true to his club, and staunch to his rein,100
His brothel and his beer;
"Next to seeing a Lord at the Council board,
I would rather see him here."
13
Satan hired a horse and gig
With promises to pay;
And he pawned his horns for a spruce new wig,
To redeem as he came away:
And he whistled some tune, a waltz or a jig,
And drove off at the close of day.
14
The first place he stopped at – he heard the Psalm110
That rung from a Methodist Chapel:
"'T is the best sound I've heard," quoth he, "since my palm
Presented Eve her apple!
When Faith is all, 't is an excellent sign,
That the Works and Workmen both are mine."
15
He passed Tommy Tyrwhitt, that standing jest,
To princely wit a Martyr:
But the last joke of all was by far the best,
When he sailed away with "the Garter"!
"And" – quoth Satan – "this Embassy's worthy my sight,120
Should I see nothing else to amuse me to night.
With no one to bear it, but Thomas à Tyrwhitt,
This ribband belongs to an 'Order of Merit'!"
16
He stopped at an Inn and stepped within
The Bar and read the "Times;"
And never such a treat, as – the epistle of one "Vetus,"
Had he found save in downright crimes:
"Though I doubt if this drivelling encomiast of War
Ever saw a field fought, or felt a scar,
Yet his fame shall go farther than he can guess,130
For I'll keep him a place in my hottest Press;
And his works shall be bound in Morocco d'Enfer,
And lettered behind with his Nom de Guerre."
17
The Devil gat next to Westminster,
And he turned to "the room" of the Commons;
But he heard as he purposed to enter in there,
That "the Lords" had received a summons;
And he thought, as "a quondam Aristocrat,"
He might peep at the Peers, though to hear them were flat;
And he walked up the House so like one of his own,140
That they say that he stood pretty near the throne.
18
He saw the Lord Liverpool seemingly wise,
The Lord Westmoreland certainly silly,
And Jockey of Norfolk – a man of some size —
And Chatham, so like his friend Billy;
And he saw the tears in Lord Eldon's eyes,
Because the Catholics would not rise,
In spite of his prayers and his prophecies;
And he heard – which set Satan himself a staring —
A certain Chief Justice say something like swearing.
And the Devil was shocked – and quoth he, "I must go,151
For I find we have much better manners below.
If thus he harangues when he passes my border,
I shall hint to friend Moloch to call him to order."
19
Then the Devil went down to the humbler House,
Where he readily found his way
As natural to him as its hole to a Mouse,
He had been there many a day;
And many a vote and soul and job he
Had bid for and carried away from the Lobby:
But there now was a "call" and accomplished debaters161
Appeared in the glory of hats, boots and gaiters —
Some paid rather more – but all worse dressed than Waiters!
20
There was Canning for War, and Whitbread for peace,
And others as suited their fancies;
But all were agreed that our debts should increase
Excepting the Demagogue Francis.
That rogue! how could Westminster chuse him again
To leaven the virtue of these honest men!
But the Devil remained till the Break of Day170
Blushed upon Sleep and Lord Castlereagh:
Then up half the house got, and Satan got up
With the drowsy to snore – or the hungry to sup: —
But so torpid the power of some speakers, 't is said,
That they sent even him to his brimstone bed.
21
He had seen George Rose – but George was grown dumb,
And only lied in thought!
And the Devil has all the pleasure to come
Of hearing him talk as he ought.
With the falsest of tongues, the sincerest of men – 180
His veracity were but deceit —
And Nature must first have unmade him again,
Ere his breast or his face, or his tongue, or his pen,
Conceived – uttered – looked – or wrote down letters ten,
Which Truth would acknowledge complete.
22
Satan next took the army list in hand,
Where he found a new "Field Marshal;"
And when he saw this high command
Conferred on his Highness of Cumberland,
"Oh! were I prone to cavil – or were I not the Devil,190
I should say this was somewhat partial;
Since the only wounds that this Warrior gat,
Were from God knows whom – and the Devil knows what!"
23
He then popped his head in a royal Ball,
And saw all the Haram so hoary;
And who there besides but Corinna de Staël!
Turned Methodist and Tory!
"Aye – Aye" – quoth he – "'t is the way with them all,
When Wits grow tired of Glory:
But thanks to the weakness, that thus could pervert her,200
Since the dearest of prizes to me's a deserter:
Mem– whenever a sudden conversion I want,
To send to the school of Philosopher Kant;
And whenever I need a critic who can gloss over
All faults – to send for Mackintosh to write up the Philosopher."
24
The Devil waxed faint at the sight of this Saint,
And he thought himself of eating;
And began to cram from a plate of ham
Wherewith a Page was retreating —
Having nothing else to do (for "the friends" each so near210
Had sold all their souls long before),
As he swallowed down the bacon he wished himself a Jew
For the sake of another crime more:
For Sinning itself is but half a recreation,
Unless it ensures most infallible Damnation.
25
But he turned him about, for he heard a sound
Which even his ear found faults in;
For whirling above – underneath – and around —
Were his fairest Disciples Waltzing!
And quoth he – "though this be – the premier pas to me,220
Against it I would warn all —
Should I introduce these revels among my younger devils,
They would all turn perfectly carnal:
And though fond of the flesh – yet I never could bear it
Should quite in my kingdom get the upper hand of Spirit."
26
The Devil (but 't was over) had been vastly glad
To see the new Drury Lane,
And yet he might have been rather mad
To see it rebuilt in vain;
And had he beheld their "Nourjahad,"230
Would never have gone again:
And Satan had taken it much amiss,
They should fasten such a piece on a friend of his —
Though he knew that his works were somewhat sad,
He never had found them quite so bad:
For this was "the book" which, of yore, Job, sorely smitten,
Said, "Oh that mine enemy, mine enemy had written"!
27
Then he found sixty scribblers in separate cells,
And marvelled what they were doing,
For they looked like little fiends in their own little hells,240
Damnation for others brewing —
Though their paper seemed to shrink, from the heat of their ink,
They were only
coolly reviewing!
And as one of them wrote down the pronoun "
We,"
"That Plural" – says Satan – "means
him and
me,
With the Editor added to make up the three
Of an Athanasian Trinity,
And render the believers in our 'Articles' sensible,
How many must combine to form
one Incomprehensible"!
December 9, 1813.
[Stanzas 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 10, 11, 12, 17, 18, first published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 471-474: stanzas 6, 7, 9, 13, 14, 15, 16, 19-27, now published for the first time from an autograph MS. in the possession of the Earl of Ilchester.]