The Works of Lord Byron, Volume 3 | Page 6

mock
denial,
For every thought is bent to prove
Her passion in the hour of
trial.
When thronging foemen menace Spain,
She dares the deed
and shares the danger;
And should her lover press the plain,
She
hurls the spear, her love's avenger.
6.
And when, beneath the evening star,
She mingles in the gay Bolero,[3]

Or sings to her attuned guitar
Of Christian knight or Moorish hero,

Or counts her beads with fairy hand
Beneath the twinkling rays of
Hesper,[c]
Or joins Devotion's choral band,
To chaunt the sweet
and hallowed vesper;--
7.
In each her charms the heart must move
Of all who venture to behold
her;
Then let not maids less fair reprove
Because her bosom is not

colder:
Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam
Where many a soft
and melting maid is,
But none abroad, and few at home,
May match
the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.[d]

1809.
[First
published, 1832.]
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA.[e][4]
1.
As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
Some _name_ arrests the passer-by;

Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May _mine_ attract thy
pensive eye!
2.
And when by thee that name is read,
Perchance in some succeeding
year,
Reflect on _me_ as on the _dead_,
And think my _Heart_ is
buried _here_.
Malta,
_September_ 14, 1809.
[First published, _Childe
Harold_, 1812 (4to).]
TO FLORENCE.[f]
1.
Oh Lady! when I left the shore,
The distant shore which gave me
birth,
I hardly thought to grieve once more,
To quit another spot on
earth:
2.
Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
Where panting Nature droops the
head,
Where only thou art seen to smile,
I view my parting hour

with dread.
3.
Though far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark-blue main;

A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er,
Perchance I view her cliffs again:
4.
But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime, and
varied sea,
Though Time restore me to my home,
I ne'er shall bend
mine eyes on thee:
5.
On thee, in whom at once conspire
All charms which heedless hearts
can move,
Whom but to see is to admire,
And, oh! forgive the
word--to love.
6.
Forgive the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more
offend;
And since thy heart I cannot share,
Believe me, what I am,
thy friend.
7.
And who so cold as look on thee,
Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less?

Nor be, what man should ever be,
The friend of Beauty in distress?
8.
Ah! who would think that form had past
Through Danger's most
destructive path,[g]
Had braved the death-winged tempest's blast,

And 'scaped a Tyrant's fiercer wrath?
9.

Lady! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose,

And Stamboul's Oriental halls
The Turkish tyrants now enclose;
10.
Though mightiest in the lists of fame,
That glorious city still shall be;

On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,
As spot of thy nativity:
11.
And though I bid thee now farewell,
When I behold that wondrous
scene--
Since where thou art I may not dwell--
'Twill soothe to be
where thou hast been.

_September_, 1809.
[First published, _Childe
Harold_, 1812 (4to).]
STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDERSTORM.[h][5]
1.
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,

And angry clouds are pouring fast
The vengeance of the skies.
2.
Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
And lightnings, as they play,

But show where rocks our path have crost,
Or gild the torrent's spray.
3.
Is yon