Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?
For thee. Whose safety first provide for? Thine.
And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought,
To thee—to thee—e'en in the gasp of death
My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.
Thus much and more; and yet thou lov'st me not,
And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will.
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.
[First published, Murray's Magazine, February, 1887,
vol. i. pp. 145, 146.]
LAST WORDS ON GREECE.
What are to me those honours or renown
Past or to come, a new-born people's cry?
Albeit for such I could despise a crown
Of aught save laurel, or for such could die.
I am a fool of passion, and a frown
Of thine to me is as an adder's eye.
To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down
- ["The last he ever wrote. From a rough copy found amongst his papers at the back of the 'Song of Suli.' Copied November, 1824.—John C. Hobhouse." "A note, attached to the verses by Lord Byron, states they were addressed to no one in particular, and were a mere poetical Scherzo.-J. C. H."]