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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/137

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To build his own, upon thy deathless fame:[1]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 shore,
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore:[2]
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,[3] 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
  1. Could aught inspire me with poetic fire.
    For thee, alone, I'd strike the hallow'd lyre;
    But, to some abler hand, the task I wave,
    Whose strains immortal may outlive the grave.—[P. on V. Occasions.]

  2. Our lusty limbs.—[P. on V. Occasions.]
    —— the buoyant waters bore.—[Hours of Idleness.]
  3. [The Rev. John Cecil Tattersall, B.A., of Christ Church, Oxford, who died December 8, 1812, at Hall's Place, Kent, aged twenty-three.]