Say, Becher, I shall be forgiven!
If you don't warrant my salvation, I must resign all 'Hopes' of 'Heaven'!
For, 'Faith', I can't withstand Temptation.
P.S.--These were written between one and two, after 'midnight'. I have not 'corrected', or 'revised'. Yours, BYRON.
[Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.]
TO ANNE. [1]
1
Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed The heart which adores you should wish to dissever; Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed,-- To bear me from Love and from Beauty for ever.
2.
Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone Could bid me from fond admiration refrain; By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown, Till smiles should restore me to rapture again.
3.
As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwin'd, The rage of the tempest united must weather; My love and my life were by nature design'd To flourish alike, or to perish together.
4.
Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu: Till Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed, His Soul, his Existence, are centred in you.
1807. [First published, 1832.]
TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET
BEGINNING "'SAD IS MY VERSE,' YOU SAY, 'AND YET NO TEAR.'"
1.
Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt: A devilish deal more sad than witty!
Why we should weep I can't find out, Unless for _thee_ we weep in pity.
2.
Yet there is one I pity more; And much, alas! I think he needs it: For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore, Who, to his own misfortune, reads it.
3.
Thy rhymes, without the aid of magic, May _once_ be read--but never after: Yet their effect's by no means tragic, Although by far too dull for laughter.
4.
But would you make our bosoms bleed, And of no common pang complain-- If you would make us weep indeed, Tell us, you'll read them o'er again.
March 8, 1807. [First published, 1832.]