May no delights decoy!
O'er roses may your footsteps move, Your smiles be ever smiles of love, Your tears be tears of joy!
16.
Oh! if you wish that happiness Your coming days and years may bless, And virtues crown your brow; Be still as you were wont to be, Spotless as you've been known to me,-- Be still as you are now. [3]
17.
And though some trifling share of praise, To cheer my last declining days, To me were doubly dear; Whilst blessing your beloved name, I'd _waive_ at once a _Poet's_ fame, To _prove_ a _Prophet_ here.
1807.
[Footnote 1: These stanzas were written soon after the appearance of a severe critique in a northern review, on a new publication of the British Anacreon. (Byron refers to the article in the 'Edinburgh Review', of July, 1807, on "'Epistles, Odes, and other Poems', by Thomas Little, Esq.")]
[Footnote 2: A bard [Moore] ('Horresco referens') defied his reviewer [Jeffrey] to mortal combat. If this example becomes prevalent, our Periodical Censors must be dipped in the river Styx: for what else can secure them from the numerous host of their enraged assailants? [Cf.
'English Bards', l. 466, 'note'.]]
[Footnote 3:
"Of all I have ever known, Clare has always been the least altered in everything from the excellent qualities and kind affections which attached me to him so strongly at school. I should hardly have thought it possible for society (or the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so little of the leaven of bad passions. I do not speak from personal experience only, but from all I have ever heard of him from others, during absence and distance."
'Detached Thoughts', Nov. 5, 1821; 'Life', p. 540.]
[Footnote i:
'To the Earl of-----'.
['Poems O. and T.']]
[Footnote ii:
'Now----I must'.
['Poems O. and T.']]
[Footnote iii:
'In truth dear----in fancy's flight'.
['Poems O. and T.']]
I WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILD. [i]
1
I would I were a careless child, Still dwelling in my Highland cave, Or roaming through the dusky wild, Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave; The cumbrous pomp of Saxon [1] pride, Accords not with the freeborn soul, Which loves the mountain's craggy side, And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
2.
Fortune! take back these cultur'd lands, Take back this name of splendid sound!
I hate the touch of servile hands, I hate the slaves that cringe around: Place me among the rocks I love, Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar; I ask but this--again to rove Through scenes my youth hath known before.
3.
Few are my years, and yet I feel The World was ne'er design'd for me: Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal The hour when man must cease to be?
Once I beheld a splendid dream, A visionary scene of bliss: Truth!--wherefore did thy hated beam Awake me to a world like this?
4.
I lov'd--but those I lov'd are gone; Had friends--my early friends are fled: How cheerless feels the heart alone, When all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions, o'er the bowl Dispel awhile the sense of ill; Though Pleasure stirs the maddening soul, The heart--the heart--is lonely still.
5.
How dull! to hear the voice of those Whom Rank or Chance, whom Wealth or Power, Have made, though neither friends nor foes, Associates of the festive hour.
Give me again a faithful few, In years and feelings still the same, And I will fly the midnight crew, Where boist'rous Joy is but a name.
6.
And Woman, lovely Woman! thou, My hope, my comforter, my all!
How cold must be my bosom now, When e'en thy smiles begin to pall!
Without a sigh would I resign, This busy scene of splendid Woe, To make that calm contentment mine, Which Virtue knows, or seems to know.