The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 7. Poetry. George Gordon Byron
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!
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!
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, —26
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 —27
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 Blues28 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;29
But to-morrow, at four, we will both play the Scurra,
And you'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra.30
ON LORD THURLOW'S POEMS.31
When Thurlow this damned nonsense sent,
(I hope I am not violent)
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
And since not even our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise —
Why would they let him print his lays?
To me, divine Apollo, grant – O!
Hermilda's32 first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining, —
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
TO LORD THURLOW.33
"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:34
Were justice done to both, I trow,
He'd have but little, and thou – none.
"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.
"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.
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.
"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.
"I have a state-coach at Carlton House,20
A chariot in Seymour-place;37
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
26
[Moore's "
27
[James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) was imprisoned February, 1813, to February, 1815, for a libel on the Prince Regent, published in the
28
[For "Sotheby's Blues," see Introduction to
29
[Katherine Sophia Manners was married in 1793 to Sir Gilbert Heathcote. See
30
[See
31
[One evening, in the late spring or early summer of 1813, Byron and Moore supped on bread and cheese with Rogers. Their host had just received from Lord Thurlow [Edward Hovell Thurlow, 1781-1829] a copy of his
"Byron," says Moore, "undertook to read it aloud; – but he found it impossible to get beyond the first two words. Our laughter had now increased to such a pitch that nothing could restrain it. Two or three times he began; but no sooner had the words 'When Rogers' passed his lips, than our fit burst forth afresh, – till even Mr. Rogers himself … found it impossible not to join us. A day or two after, Lord Byron sent me the following: – 'My dear Moore, "When Rogers" must not see the enclosed, which I send for your perusal.'" —
Thurlow's poems are by no means contemptible. A sonnet, "To a Bird, that haunted the Water of Lacken, in the Winter," which Charles Lamb transcribed in one of Coleridge's note-books, should be set over against the absurd lines, "On the Poems of Mr. Rogers."
32
[
33
["On the same day I received from him the following additional scraps ['To Lord Thurlow']. The lines in Italics are from the eulogy that provoked his waggish comments." —
34
[Lord Thurlow affected an archaic style in his Sonnets and other verses. In the Preface to the second edition of
35
The Devil's Drive.
36
["I have lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapsody, called 'The Devil's Drive,' the notion of which I took from Porson's
37
[Lord Yarmouth, nicknamed "Red Herrings," the eldest son of the Regent's elderly favourite, the Marchioness of Hertford (the "Marchesa" of the