Stanzas To The Po.[588]

1.

River, that rollest by the ancient walls, Where dwells the Lady of my love, when she Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls A faint and fleeting memory of me:

2.

What if thy deep and ample stream should be A mirror of my heart, where she may read The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed!

3.

What do I say--a mirror of my heart? Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong? Such as my feelings were and are, thou art; And such as thou art were my passions long.

4.

Time may have somewhat tamed them,--not for ever; Thou overflow'st thy banks, and not for aye Thy bosom overboils, congenial river! Thy floods subside, and mine have sunk away:

5.

But left long wrecks behind, and now again,[ib] Borne in our old unchanged career, we move: Thou tendest wildly onwards to the main, And I--to loving one I should not love.

6.

The current I behold will sweep beneath Her native walls, and murmur at her feet; Her eyes will look on thee, when she shall breathe The twilight air, unharmed by summer's heat.

7.

She will look on thee,--I have looked on thee, Full of that thought: and, from that moment, ne'er Thy waters could I dream of, name, or see, Without the inseparable sigh for her!

8.

Her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream,-- Yes! they will meet the wave I gaze on now: Mine cannot witness, even in a dream, That happy wave repass me in its flow!

9.

The wave that bears my tears returns no more: Will she return by whom that wave shall sweep?-- Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore, I by thy source, she by the dark-blue deep.[ic]

10.

But that which keepeth us apart is not Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth, But the distraction of a various lot, As various as the climates of our birth.

11.

A stranger loves the Lady of the land,[id] Born far beyond the mountains, but his blood Is all meridian, as if never fanned By the black wind that chills the polar flood.[ie]

12.

My blood is all meridian; were it not, I had not left my clime, nor should I be,[if] In spite of tortures, ne'er to be forgot, A slave again of love,--at least of thee.

13.

'Tis vain to struggle--let me perish young-- Live as I lived, and love as I have loved; To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, And then, at least, my heart can ne'er be moved.

June, 1819.

[First published, Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824, 4º, pp. 24-26.]

SONNET ON THE NUPTIALS OF THE MARQUIS ANTONIO CAVALLI WITH THE COUNTESS CLELIA RASPONI OF RAVENNA.

A noble Lady of the Italian shore Lovely and young, herself a happy bride, Commands a verse, and will not be denied, From me a wandering Englishman; I tore One sonnet, but invoke the muse once more To hail these gentle hearts which Love has tied, In Youth, Birth, Beauty, genially allied And blest with Virtue's soul, and Fortune's store. A sweeter language, and a luckier bard Were worthier of your hopes, Auspicious Pair! And of the sanctity of Hymen's shrine, But,--since I cannot but obey the Fair, To render your new state your true reward, May your Fate be like Hers, and unlike mine.

Ravenna, July 31, 1819.

[From an autograph MS. in the possession of the Lady Dorchester, now for the first time printed.]

SONNET TO THE PRINCE REGENT.[ig] ON THE REPEAL OF LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD'S FORFEITURE.

To be the father of the fatherless, To stretch the hand from the throne's height, and raise His offspring, who expired in other days To make thy Sire's sway by a kingdom less,--[ih] This is to be a monarch, and repress Envy into unutterable praise. Dismiss thy guard, and trust thee to such traits, For who would lift a hand, except to bless?[ii] Were it not easy, Sir, and is't not sweet To make thyself belovéd? and to be Omnipotent by Mercy's means? for thus Thy Sovereignty would grow but more complete, A despot thou, and yet thy people free,[ij] And by the heart--not hand--enslaving us.

Bologna, August 12, 1819.

[First published, Letters and Journals, ii. 234, 235.]