The Works of Lord Byron Volume I Part 29

Hours of my youth! when, nurtur'd in my breast, To Love a stranger, Friendship made me blest,-- Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth, When every artless bosom throbs with truth; Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign, And check each impulse with prudential rein; 60 When, all we feel, our honest souls disclose, In love to friends, in open hate to foes; No varnish'd tales the lips of youth repeat, No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit; Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years, Matured by age, the garb of Prudence wears: [ii]

When, now, the Boy is ripen'd into Man, His careful Sire chalks forth some wary plan; Instructs his Son from Candour's path to shrink, Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think; 70 Still to a.s.sent, and never to deny-- A patron's praise can well reward the lie: And who, when Fortune's warning voice is heard, Would lose his opening prospects for a word?

Although, against that word, his heart rebel, And Truth, indignant, all his bosom swell.

Away with themes like this! not mine the task, From flattering friends to tear the hateful mask; Let keener bards delight in Satire's sting, My Fancy soars not on Detraction's wing: 80 Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly blow, To hurl Defiance on a secret Foe; But when that foe, from feeling or from shame, The cause unknown, yet still to me the same, Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance, retir'd, With this submission all her rage expired.

From dreaded pangs that feeble Foe to save, She hush'd her young resentment, and forgave.

Or, if my Muse a Pedant's portrait drew, POMPOSUS' [5] virtues are but known to few: 90 I never fear'd the young usurper's nod, And he who wields must, sometimes, feel the rod.

If since on Granta's failings, known to all Who share the converse of a college hall, She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain, 'Tis past, and thus she will not sin again: Soon must her early song for ever cease, And, all may rail, when I shall rest in peace.

Here, first remember'd be the joyous band, Who hail'd me chief, [6] obedient to command; 100 Who join'd with me, in every boyish sport, Their first adviser, and their last resort; Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant's frown, [iii]

Or all the sable glories of his gown; [iv]

Who, thus, transplanted from his father's school, Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule-- Succeeded him, whom all unite to praise, The dear preceptor of my early days, PROBUS, [7] the pride of science, and the boast-- To IDA now, alas! for ever lost! 110 With him, for years, we search'd the cla.s.sic page, [v]

And fear'd the Master, though we lov'd the Sage: Retir'd at last, his small yet peaceful seat From learning's labour is the blest retreat.

POMPOSUS fills his magisterial chair; POMPOSUS governs,--but, my Muse, forbear: Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot, [vi]

His name and precepts be alike forgot; No more his mention shall my verse degrade,-- To him my tribute is already paid. [8] 120

High, through those elms with h.o.a.ry branches crown'd [9]

Fair IDA'S bower adorns the landscape round; There Science, from her favour'd seat, surveys The vale where rural Nature claims her praise; To her awhile resigns her youthful train, Who move in joy, and dance along the plain; In scatter'd groups, each favour'd haunt pursue, Repeat old pastimes, and discover new; Flush'd with his rays, beneath the noontide Sun, In rival bands, between the wickets run, 130 Drive o'er the sward the ball with active force, Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course.

But these with slower steps direct their way, Where Brent's cool waves in limpid currents stray, While yonder few search out some green retreat, And arbours shade them from the summer heat: Others, again, a pert and lively crew, Some rough and thoughtless stranger plac'd in view, With frolic quaint their antic jests expose, And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes; 140 Nor rest with this, but many a pa.s.sing fray Tradition treasures for a future day: "'Twas here the gather'd swains for vengeance fought, And here we earn'd the conquest dearly bought: Here have we fled before superior might, And here renew'd the wild tumultuous fight."

While thus our souls with early pa.s.sions swell, In lingering tones resounds the distant bell; Th' allotted hour of daily sport is o'er, And Learning beckons from her temple's door. 150 No splendid tablets grace her simple hall, But ruder records fill the dusky wall: There, deeply carv'd, behold! each Tyro's name Secures its owner's academic fame; Here mingling view the names of Sire and Son, The one long grav'd, the other just begun: These shall survive alike when Son and Sire, Beneath one common stroke of fate expire; [10]

Perhaps, their last memorial these alone, Denied, in death, a monumental stone, 160 Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave The sighing weeds, that hide their nameless grave.

And, here, my name, and many an early friend's, Along the wall in lengthen'd line extends.

Though, still, our deeds amuse the youthful race, Who tread our steps, and fill our former place, Who young obeyed their lords in silent awe, Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law; And now, in turn, possess the reins of power, To rule, the little Tyrants of an hour; 170 Though sometimes, with the Tales of ancient day, They pa.s.s the dreary Winter's eve away; "And, thus, our former rulers stemm'd the tide, And, thus, they dealt the combat, side by side; Just in this place, the mouldering walls they scaled, Nor bolts, nor bars, against their strength avail'd; Here PROBUS came, the rising fray to quell, And, here, he falter'd forth his last farewell; And, here, one night abroad they dared to roam, While bold POMPOSUS bravely staid at home;" 180 While thus they speak, the hour must soon arrive, When names of these, like ours, alone survive: Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm The faint remembrance of our fairy realm.

Dear honest race! though now we meet no more, One last long look on what we were before-- Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu-- Drew tears from eyes unus'd to weep with you.

Through splendid circles, Fashion's gaudy world, Where Folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd, 190 I plung'd to drown in noise my fond regret, And all I sought or hop'd was to forget: Vain wish! if, chance, some well-remember'd face, Some old companion of my early race, Advanc'd to claim his friend with honest joy, My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy; The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around, Were quite forgotten when my friend was found; The smiles of Beauty, (for, alas! I've known What 'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne;) 200 The smiles of Beauty, though those smiles were dear, Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near: My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise, The woods of IDA danc'd before my eyes; I saw the sprightly wand'rers pour along, I saw, and join'd again the joyous throng; Panting, again I trac'd her lofty grove, And Friendship's feelings triumph'd over Love.

Yet, why should I alone with such delight Retrace the circuit of my former flight? 210 Is there no cause beyond the common claim, Endear'd to all in childhood's very name?

Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here, Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear To one, who thus for kindred hearts must roam, And seek abroad, the love denied at home.

Those hearts, dear IDA, have I found in thee, A home, a world, a paradise to me.

Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share The tender guidance of a Father's care; 220 Can Rank, or e'en a Guardian's name supply The love, which glistens in a Father's eye?

For this, can Wealth, or t.i.tle's sound atone, Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own?

What Brother springs a Brother's love to seek?

What Sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek?

For me, how dull the vacant moments rise, To no fond bosom link'd by kindred ties!

Oft, in the progress of some fleeting dream, Fraternal smiles, collected round me seem; 230 While still the visions to my heart are prest, The voice of Love will murmur in my rest: I hear--I wake--and in the sound rejoice!

I hear again,--but, ah! no Brother's voice.

A Hermit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way; While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine, I cannot call one single blossom mine: What then remains? in solitude to groan, To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone? 240 Thus, must I cling to some endearing hand, And none more dear, than IDA'S social band.

Alonzo! [11] best and dearest of my friends, [vii]

Thy name enn.o.bles him, who thus commends: From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise; The praise is his, who now that tribute pays.

Oh! in the promise of thy early youth, If Hope antic.i.p.ate the words of Truth!

Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name, To build his own, upon thy deathless fame: [viii] 250 Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list Of those with whom I lived supremely blest; Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore, Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more; Yet, when Confinement's lingering hour was done, Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one: Together we impell'd the flying ball, Together waited in our tutor's hall; Together join'd in cricket's manly toil, Or shar'd the produce of the river's spoil; 260 Or plunging from the green declining sh.o.r.e, Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore: [ix]

In every element, unchang'd, the same, All, all that brothers should be, but the name.

Nor, yet, are you forgot, my jocund Boy!

DAVUS, [12] the harbinger of childish joy; For ever foremost in the ranks of fun, The laughing herald of the harmless pun; Yet, with a breast of such materials made, Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid; 270 Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel In Danger's path, though not untaught to feel.

Still, I remember, in the factious strife, The rustic's musket aim'd against my life: [13]

High pois'd in air the ma.s.sy weapon hung, A cry of horror burst from every tongue: Whilst I, in combat with another foe, Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow; Your arm, brave Boy, arrested his career-- Forward you sprung, insensible to fear; 280 Disarm'd, and baffled by your conquering hand, The grovelling Savage roll'd upon the sand: An act like this, can simple thanks repay? [x]

Or all the labours of a grateful lay?

Oh no! whene'er my breast forgets the deed, That instant, DAVUS, it deserves to bleed.

LYCUS! [14] on me thy claims are justly great: Thy milder virtues could my Muse relate, To thee, alone, unrivall'd, would belong The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song. [xi] 290 Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit, A Spartan firmness, with Athenian wit: Though yet, in embryo, these perfections shine, LYCUS! thy father's fame [15] will soon be thine.

Where Learning nurtures the superior mind, What may we hope, from genius thus refin'd; When Time, at length, matures thy growing years, How wilt thou tower, above thy fellow peers!

Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free, With Honour's soul, united beam in thee. 300

Shall fair EURYALUS,[16] pa.s.s by unsung?

From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung: What, though one sad dissension bade us part, That name is yet embalm'd within my heart, Yet, at the mention, does that heart rebound, And palpitate, responsive to the sound; Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will: We once were friends,--I'll think, we are so still.

A form unmatch'd in Nature's partial mould, A heart untainted, we, in thee, behold: 310 Yet, not the Senate's thunder thou shall wield, Nor seek for glory, in the tented field: To minds of ruder texture, these be given-- Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven.

Haply, in polish'd courts might be thy seat, But, that thy tongue could never forge deceit: The courtier's supple bow, and sneering smile, The flow of compliment, the slippery wile, Would make that breast, with indignation, burn, And, all the glittering snares, to tempt thee, spurn. 320 Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate; Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate; The world admire thee, and thy friends adore;-- Ambition's slave, alone, would toil for more. [xii]

Now last, but nearest, of the social band, See honest, open, generous CLEON [17] stand; With scarce one speck, to cloud the pleasing scene, No vice degrades that purest soul serene.

On the same day, our studious race begun, On the same day, our studious race was run; 330 Thus, side by side, we pa.s.s'd our first career, Thus, side by side, we strove for many a year: At last, concluded our scholastic life, We neither conquer'd in the cla.s.sic strife: As Speakers, [18] each supports an equal name, [xiii]

And crowds allow to both a partial fame: To soothe a youthful Rival's early pride, Though Cleon's candour would the palm divide, Yet Candour's self compels me now to own, Justice awards it to my Friend alone. 340

Oh! Friends regretted, Scenes for ever dear, Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear!

Drooping, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's urn, To trace the hours, which never can return; Yet, with the retrospection loves to dwell, [xiv]

And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell!

Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind, As infant laurels round my head were twin'd; When PROBUS' praise repaid my lyric song, Or plac'd me higher in the studious throng; 350 Or when my first harangue receiv'd applause, [19]

His sage instruction the primeval cause, What grat.i.tude, to him, my soul possest, While hope of dawning honours fill'd my breast! [xv]

For all my humble fame, to him alone, The praise is due, who made that fame my own.

Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays, These young effusions of my early days, To him my Muse her n.o.blest strain would give, The song might perish, but the theme might live. [xvi] 360 Yet, why for him the needless verse essay?

His honour'd name requires no vain display: By every son of grateful IDA blest, It finds an echo in each youthful breast; A fame beyond the glories of the proud, Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd.

IDA! not yet exhausted is the theme, Nor clos'd the progress of my youthful dream.

How many a friend deserves the grateful strain!

What scenes of childhood still unsung remain! 370 Yet let me hush this echo of the past, This parting song, the dearest and the last; And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy, To me a silent and a sweet employ, While, future hope and fear alike unknown, I think with pleasure on the past alone; Yes, to the past alone, my heart confine, And chase the phantom of what once was mine.

IDA! still o'er thy hills in joy preside, And proudly steer through Time's eventful tide: 380 Still may thy blooming Sons thy name revere, Smile in thy bower, but quit thee with a tear;-- That tear, perhaps, the fondest which will flow, O'er their last scene of happiness below: Tell me, ye h.o.a.ry few, who glide along, The feeble Veterans of some former throng, Whose friends, like Autumn leaves by tempests whirl'd, Are swept for ever from this busy world; Revolve the fleeting moments of your youth, While Care has yet withheld her venom'd tooth; [xvii] 390 Say, if Remembrance days like these endears, Beyond the rapture of succeeding years?

Say, can Ambition's fever'd dream bestow So sweet a balm to soothe your hours of woe?

Can Treasures h.o.a.rded for some thankless Son, Can Royal Smiles, or Wreaths by slaughter won, Can Stars or Ermine, Man's maturer Toys, (For glittering baubles are not left to Boys,) Recall one scene so much belov'd to view, As those where Youth her garland twin'd for you? 400 Ah, no! amid the gloomy calm of age You turn with faltering hand life's varied page, Peruse the record of your days on earth, Unsullied only where it marks your birth; Still, lingering, pause above each chequer'd leaf, And blot with Tears the sable lines of Grief; Where Pa.s.sion o'er the theme her mantle threw, Or weeping Virtue sigh'd a faint adieu; But bless the scroll which fairer words adorn, Trac'd by the rosy finger of the Morn; 410 When Friendship bow'd before the shrine of truth, And Love, without his pinion, [20] smil'd on Youth.

[Footnote 1: The words, "that schoolboy thing," etc. (see letter to H.

Drury, Jan. 8, 1808), evidently apply, not as Moore intimates, to this period, but to the lines "On a Change of Masters,"

etc., July, 1805 (see letter to W. Bankes, March 6, 1807).]

[Footnote 2: The motto was prefixed in 'Hours of Idleness'.]

[Footnote 3: Lines 43-98 were added in 'Hours of Idleness']

[Footnote 4: Newton Hanson relates that on one occasion he accompanied his father to Harrow on Speech Day to see his brother Hargreaves Hanson and Byron.

"On our arrival at Harrow, we set out in search of Hargreaves and Byron, but the latter was not at his tutor's. Three or four lads, hearing my father's inquiries, set off at full speed to find him. They soon discovered him, and, laughing most heartily, called out, 'Hallo, Byron! here's a gentleman wants you.' And what do you think? He had got on Drury's hat. I can still remember the arch c.o.c.k of Byron's eye at the hat and then at my father, and the fun and merriment it caused him and all of us whilst, during the day, he was perambulating the highways and byeways of Ida with the hat on. 'Harrow Speech Day and the Governor's Hat' was one of the standing rallying-points for Lord Byron ever after."

[Footnote 5: Dr. Butler, then Head-master of Harrow. Had Byron published another edition of these poems, it was his intention to replace these four lines by the four which follow:--

"'If once my muse a harsher portrait drew, Warm with her wrongs, and deemed the likeness true, By cooler judgment taught, her fault she owns,-- With n.o.ble minds a fault confess'd, atones'."