7.
Yet all this giddy waste of years, This tiresome round of palling pleasures; These varied loves, these matrons" fears, These thoughtless strains to Pa.s.sion"s measures--
8.
If thou wert mine, had all been hush"d:-- This cheek, now pale from early riot, With Pa.s.sion"s hectic ne"er had flush"d, But bloom"d in calm domestic quiet.
9.
Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet, For Nature seem"d to smile before thee; And once my Breast abhorr"d deceit,-- For then it beat but to adore thee.
10.
But, now, I seek for other joys-- To think, would drive my soul to madness; In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise, I conquer half my Bosom"s sadness.
11.
Yet, even in these, a thought will steal, In spite of every vain endeavour; And fiends might pity what I feel-- To know that thou art lost for ever.
[Footnote 1: These verses were addressed to Mrs. Chaworth Musters.
Byron wrote in 1822,
"Our meetings were stolen ones. ... A gate leading from Mr. Chaworth"s grounds to those of my mother was the place of our interviews. The ardour was all on my side. I was serious; she was volatile: she liked me as a younger brother, and treated and laughed at me as a boy; she, however, gave me her picture, and that was something to make verses upon. Had I married her, perhaps, the whole tenour of my life would have been different."
Medwin"s "Conversations", 1824, p. 81.]
[Footnote i:
_To------._
["Hours of Idleness. Poems O. and T."]]
POEMS ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED
WHEN I ROVED A YOUNG HIGHLANDER. [i]
1.
When I rov"d a young Highlander o"er the dark heath, And climb"d thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow! [1]
To gaze on the torrent that thunder"d beneath, Or the mist of the tempest that gather"d below; [2]
Untutor"d by science, a stranger to fear, And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew, No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear; Need I say, my sweet Mary, [3] "twas centred in you?
2.
Yet it could not be Love, for I knew not the name,-- What pa.s.sion can dwell in the heart of a child?
But, still, I perceive an emotion the same As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover"d wild: One image, alone, on my bosom impress"d, I lov"d my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless"d, And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you.
3.
I arose with the dawn, with my dog as my guide, From mountain to mountain I bounded along; I breasted [4] the billows of Dee"s [5] rushing tide, And heard at a distance the Highlander"s song: At eve, on my heath-cover"d couch of repose.
No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view; And warm to the skies my devotions arose, For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.
4.
I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone; The mountains are vanish"d, my youth is no more; As the last of my race, I must wither alone, And delight but in days, I have witness"d before: Ah! splendour has rais"d, but embitter"d my lot; More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew: Though my hopes may have fail"d, yet they are not forgot, Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.
5.
When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, I think of the rocks that o"ershadow Colbleen; [6]
When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, I think of those eyes that endear"d the rude scene; When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, That faintly resemble my Mary"s in hue, I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold, The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you.
6.
Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow; But while these soar above me, unchang"d as before, Will Mary be there to receive me?--ah, no!
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred!
Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu!
No home in the forest shall shelter my head,-- Ah! Mary, what home could be mine, but with you?