The Works of Lord Byron Volume III Part 61

II.

There--where thy finger scorched the tablet stone!

There--where thy shadow to thy people shone!

Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Thyself--none living see and not expire!

III.

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear; Sweep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear!

How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?

How long thy temple worshipless, Oh G.o.d?

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.[291]

I.

Since our Country, our G.o.d--Oh, my Sire!

Demand that thy Daughter expire; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow-- Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

II.

And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains behold me no more: If the hand that I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow!

III.

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-- That the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below.

IV.

Though the virgins of Salem lament, Be the judge and the hero unbent!

I have won the great battle for thee, And my Father and Country are free!

V.

When this blood of thy giving hath gushed, When the voice that thou lovest is hushed, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died!

OH! s.n.a.t.c.hED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.[292]

I.

Oh! s.n.a.t.c.hed away in beauty's bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:[li]

II.

And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,[lj]

And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!

III.

Away! we know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less?

And thou--who tell'st me to forget,[lk]

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.[ll][293]

[Published in the _Examiner_, April 23, 1815.]

MY SOUL IS DARK.

I.

My soul is dark--Oh! quickly string[294]

The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.

If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again: If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

II.

But bid the strain be wild and deep, Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nursed, And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doomed to know the worst, And break at once--or yield to song.[295]

I SAW THEE WEEP.

I.

I saw thee weep--the big bright tear Came o'er that eye of blue;[296]

And then methought it did appear A violet dropping dew: I saw thee smile--the sapphire's blaze Beside thee ceased to shine; It could not match the living rays That filled that glance of thine.

II.

As clouds from yonder sun receive A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.

THY DAYS ARE DONE.

I.

Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country's strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughters of his sword!

The deeds he did, the fields he won, The freedom he restored!

II.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free Thou shall not taste of death!

The generous blood that flowed from thee Disdained to sink beneath: Within our veins its currents be, Thy spirit on our breath!