The Works of Lord Byron Volume III Part 86

The _Champion_ had been the first to give tongue, and the other journals, on the plea that the mischief was out, one after the other took up the cry. On Monday, April 15, the _Sun_ printed _Fare Thee Well_, and on Tuesday, April 16, followed with _A Sketch_. On the same day the _Morning Chronicle_, protesting that "the poems were not written for the public eye, but as having been inserted in a Sunday paper,"

printed both sets of verses; the _Morning Post_, with an ugly hint that "the n.o.ble Lord gives us verses, when he dare not give us circ.u.mstances," restricted itself to _Fare Thee Well_; while the _Times_, in a leading paragraph, feigned to regard "the two extraordinary copies of verses ... the whining stanzas of _Fare Thee Well_, and the low malignity and miserable doggerel of the companion _Sketch_," as "an injurious fabrication." On Thursday, the 18th, the _Courier_, though declining to insert _A Sketch_, deals temperately and sympathetically with the _Fare Thee Well_, and quotes the testimony of a "fair correspondent" (? Madame de Stael), that if "her husband had bade her such a farewell she could not have avoided running into his arms, and being reconciled immediately--'Je n'aurois pu m'y tenir un instant';" and on the same day the _Times_, having learnt to its "extreme astonishment and regret," that both poems were indeed Lord Byron's, maintained that the n.o.ble author had "degraded literature, and abused the privileges of rank, by converting them into weapons of vengeance against an inferior and a female." On Friday, the 19th, the _Star_ printed both poems, and the _Morning Post_ inserted a criticism, which had already appeared in the _Courier_ of the preceding day. On Sat.u.r.day, the 20th, the _Courier_ found itself compelled, in the interests of its readers, to print both poems. On Sunday, the 21st, the octave of the original issue, the _Examiner_ devoted a long article to an apology for Byron, and a fierce rejoinder to the _Champion_; and on the same day the _Independent Whig_ and the _Sunday News_, which favoured the "opposition," printed both poems, with prefatory notices more or less favourable to the writer; whereas the Tory _Antigallican Monitor_, which also printed both poems, added the significant remark that "if everything said of Lord Byron be true, it would appear that the Whigs were not altogether so immaculate as they themselves would wish the world to suppose."

The testimony of the press is instructive from two points of view. In the first place, it tends to show that the controversy was conducted on party lines; and, secondly, that the editor of the _Champion_ was in some degree responsible for the wide diffusion and lasting publicity of the scandal. The separation of Lord and Lady Byron must, in any case, have been more than a nine days' wonder, but if the circulation of the "pamphlet" had been strictly confined to the "initiated," the excitement and interest of the general public would have smouldered and died out for lack of material.

In his second letter on Bowles, dated March 25, 1821 (_Observations upon Observations_, _Life_, 1892, p. 705), Byron alludes to the publication of these poems in the _Champion_, and comments on the behaviour of the editor, who had recently (February 16, 1821) been killed in a duel. He does not minimize the wrong, but he pays a fine and generous tribute to the courage and worth of his a.s.sailant. "Poor Scott is now no more ...he died like a brave man, and he lived an able one," etc. It may be added that Byron was an anonymous subscriber to a fund raised by Sir James Mackintosh, Murray, and others, for "the helpless family of a man of virtue and ability" (_London Magazine_, April, 1821, vol. iii. p. 359).

For chronological reasons, and in accordance with the precedent of the edition of 1832, a third poem, _Stanzas to Augusta_, has been included in this group.

POEMS OF THE SEPARATION

FARE THEE WELL.[432]

"Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth: And Constancy lives in realms above; And Life is th.o.r.n.y; and youth is vain: And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain;

But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining-- They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been."

Coleridge's Christabel.[rh]

Fare thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare _thee well:_ Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

Would that breast were bared before thee[ri]

Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee[rj]

Which thou ne'er canst know again: Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show!

Then thou would'st at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so.

Though the world for this commend thee--[433]

Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe: Though my many faults defaced me, Could no other arm be found, Than the one which once embraced me, To inflict a cureless wound?

Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not-- Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaineth-- Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;[rk]

And the undying thought which paineth[rl]

Is--that we no more may meet.

These are words of deeper sorrow[rm]

Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live--but every morrow[rn]

Wake us from a widowed bed.

And when thou would'st solace gather-- When our child's first accents flow-- Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"

Though his care she must forego?

When her little hands shall press thee-- When her lip to thine is pressed-- Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee-- Think of him thy love _had_ blessed!

Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble[ro]

With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest-- All my madness--none can know;[rp]

All my hopes--where'er thou goest-- Wither--yet with _thee_ they go.

Every feeling hath been shaken; Pride--which not a world could bow--[rq]

Bows to thee--by thee forsaken,[rr]

Even my soul forsakes me now.

But 'tis done--all words are idle-- Words from me are vainer still;[rs]

But the thoughts we cannot bridle Force their way without the will.

Fare thee well! thus disunited--[rt]

Torn from every nearer tie-- Seared in heart--and lone--and blighted-- More than this I scarce can die.

[First draft, _March_ 18, 1816.

First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]

A SKETCH.[ru][434]

"Honest--honest Iago!

If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."

Shakespeare.

Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;[rv]

Next--for some gracious service unexpressed, And from its wages only to be guessed-- Raised from the toilet to the table,--where Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.

With eye unmoved, and forehead unabashed, She dines from off the plate she lately washed.

Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie, The genial confidante, and general spy-- 10 Who could, ye G.o.ds! her next employment guess-- An only infant's earliest governess![rw]

She taught the child to read, and taught so well, That she herself, by teaching, learned to spell.

An adept next in penmanship she grows, As many a nameless slander deftly shows: What she had made the pupil of her art, None know--but that high Soul secured the heart,[rx]

And panted for the truth it could not hear, With longing breast and undeluded ear. 20 Foiled was perversion by that youthful mind,[ry]

Which Flattery fooled not, Baseness could not blind, Deceit infect not, near Contagion soil, Indulgence weaken, nor Example spoil,[rz]

Nor mastered Science tempt her to look down On humbler talents with a pitying frown, Nor Genius swell, nor Beauty render vain, Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain,[sa]

Nor Fortune change, Pride raise, nor Pa.s.sion bow, Nor Virtue teach austerity--till now. 30 Serenely purest of her s.e.x that live,[sb]

But wanting one sweet weakness--to forgive; Too shocked at faults her soul can never know, She deems that all could be like her below: Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend, For Virtue pardons those she would amend.

But to the theme, now laid aside too long, The baleful burthen of this honest song,[sc]

Though all her former functions are no more, She rules the circle which she served before. 40 If mothers--none know why--before her quake; If daughters dread her for the mothers' sake; If early habits--those false links, which bind At times the loftiest to the meanest mind--[sd]

Have given her power too deeply to instil The angry essence of her deadly will;[se]

If like a snake she steal within your walls, Till the black slime betray her as she crawls; If like a viper to the heart she wind, And leave the venom there she did not find; 50 What marvel that this hag of hatred works[sf]

Eternal evil latent as she lurks, To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, And reign the Hecate of domestic h.e.l.ls?

Skilled by a touch to deepen Scandal's tints With all the kind mendacity of hints, While mingling truth with falsehood--sneers with smiles-- A thread of candour with a web of wiles;[sg]

A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming, To hide her bloodless heart's soul-hardened scheming; 60 A lip of lies; a face formed to conceal, And, without feeling, mock at all who feel: With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown,-- A cheek of parchment, and an eye of stone.[sh]

Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud, Cased like the centipede in saffron mail, Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale--[si]

(For drawn from reptiles only may we trace Congenial colours in that soul or face)-- 70 Look on her features! and behold her mind[sj]

As in a mirror of itself defined: Look on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged-- There is no trait which might not be enlarged: Yet true to "Nature's journeymen,"[435] who made This monster when their mistress left off trade-- This female dog-star of her little sky, Where all beneath her influence droop or die.[sk]

Oh! wretch without a tear--without a thought, Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought-- 80 The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now; Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain, And turn thee howling in unpitied pain.

May the strong curse of crushed affections light[436]

Back on thy bosom with reflected blight!

And make thee in thy leprosy of mind As loathsome to thyself as to mankind!

Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, Black--as thy will or others would create: 90 Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, And thy soul welter in its hideous crust.

Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed, The widowed couch of fire, that thou hast spread!

Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer, Look on thine earthly victims--and despair!

Down to the dust!--and, as thou rott'st away, Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.[sl]

But for the love I bore, and still must bear, To her thy malice from all ties would tear-- 100 Thy name--thy human name--to every eye The climax of all scorn should hang on high, Exalted o'er thy less abhorred compeers-- And festering[437] in the infamy of years.[sm]

[First draft, _March_ 29, 1816.

First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]