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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396063" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Condolatory Address To Sarah, Countess Of Jersey, On The Prince Regent's Returning Her Picture To Mrs. Mee</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the vain triumph of the imperial lord,<br>Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd,<br>Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust,<br>That left a likeness of the brave or just;<br>What most admired each scrutinising eye<br>Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry?<br>What spread from face to face that wondering air?<br>The thought of Brutus - for his was not there!<br>That absence proved his worth, - that absence fix'd<br>His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd;<br>And more decreed his glory to endure,<br>Than all a gold Colossus could secure.<br>If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze<br>Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze,<br>Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness, <br>Bright though they be, thine own had render'd less:<br>If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits<br>Heir of his father's crown, and of his wits,<br>If his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart,<br>Could with thy gentle image bear to part;<br>That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief, <br>To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief:<br>Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts,<br>We lose the 'portrait, but preserve our hearts.<br>What can his vaulted gallery now disclose?<br>A garden with all flowers--except the rose;--<br>A fount that only wants its living stream;<br>A night, with every star, save Dian's beam.<br>Lost to our eyes the present forms shall be,<br>That turn from tracing them to dream of thee; <br>And more on that recall'd resemblance pause,<br>Than all he shall not force on our applause.<br>Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine,<br>With all that Virtue asks of Homage thine:<br>The symmetry of youth, the grace of mien, <br>The eye that gladdens, and the brow serene;<br>The glossy darkness of that clustering hair,<br>Which shades, yet shows that forehead more than fair!<br>Each glance that wins us, and the life that throws<br>A spell which will not let our looks repose,<br>But turn to gaze again, and find anew<br>Some charm that well rewards another view.<br>These are not lessen'd, these are still as bright,<br>Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight;<br>And those must wait till ev'ry charm is gone, <br>To please the paltry heart that pleases none;-<br>That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye<br>In envious dimness pass'd thy portrait by;<br>Who rack'd his little spirit to combine<br>Its hate of Freedom's loveliness, and thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">August 1814.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396063" data-title="Condolatory Address To Sarah, Countess Of Jersey, On The Prince Regent's Returning Her Picture To Mrs. Mee" data-description="When the vain triumph of the imperial lord,
Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd,
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust,
That left a likeness of the brave or just;
What most admired each scrutinising eye
Of all that deck'd that passing ..."></div>
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