POEMS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS
TO M. S. G.
1.
Whene'er I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were--unhallow'd bliss.
2.
Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows!
Yet, is the daring wish represt, For that,--would banish its repose.
3.
A glance from thy soul-searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Yet, I conceal my love,--and why?
I would not force a painful tear.
4.
I ne'er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom's heaven a hell?
5.
No! for thou never canst be mine, United by the priest's decree: By any ties but those divine, Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be.
6.
Then let the secret fire consume, Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom, Rather than spread its guilty glow.
7.
I will not ease my tortur'd heart, By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart, Each thought presumptuous I resign.
8.
Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave More than I here shall dare to tell; Thy innocence and mine to save,-- I bid thee now a last farewell.
9.
Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair And hope no more thy soft embrace; Which to obtain, my soul would dare, All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.
10.
At least from guilt shall thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shall thou be to love.
STANZAS TO A LADY, WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOeNS. [1]
1.
This votive pledge of fond esteem, Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou'lt prize; It sings of Love's enchanting dream, A theme we never can despise.
2.
Who blames it but the envious fool, The old and disappointed maid?
Or pupil of the prudish school, In single sorrow doom'd to fade?
3.
Then read, dear Girl! with feeling read, For thou wilt ne'er be one of those; To thee, in vain, I shall not plead In pity for the Poet's woes.
4.
He was, in sooth, a genuine Bard; His was no faint, fictitious flame: Like his, may Love be thy reward, But not thy hapless fate the same.
[Footnote: 1. Lord Strangford's 'Poems from the Portuguese by Luis de Camoens' and "Little's" Poems are mentioned by Moore as having been Byron's favourite study at this time ('Life', P--39).]