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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396095" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Epistle To A Friend, In Answer To Some Lines Exhorting The Author To Be Cheerful, And To Banish Care</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'OH! banish care'--such ever be<br>The motto of thy revelry!<br>Perchance of mine, when wassail nights<br>Renew those riotous delights,<br>Wherewith the children of Despair<br>Lull the lone heart, and `banish care.'<br>But not in morn's reflecting hour,<br>When present, past, and future lower,<br>When all I loved is changed or gone,<br>Mock with such taunts the woes of one,<br>Whose every thought--but let them pass<br>Thou know'st I am not what I was.<br>But, above all, if thou wouldst hold<br>Place in a heart that ne'er was cold,<br>By all the powers that men revere, <br>By all unto thy bosom dear,<br>Thy joys below, thy hopes above,<br>Speak--speak of anything but love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,<br>The tale of one who scorns a tear; <br>And there is little in that tale<br>Which better bosoms would bewail.<br>But mine has suffer'd more than well<br>'Twould suit philosophy to tell.<br>I've seen my bride another's bride,--<br>Have seen her seated by his side,<br>Have seen the infant, which she bore,<br>Wear the sweet smile the mother wore,<br>When she and I in youth have smiled,<br>As fond and faultless as her child;<br>Have seen her eyes, in cold disdain,<br>Ask if I felt no secret pain<br>And I have acted well my part,<br>And made my cheek belie my heart,<br>Return'd the freezing glance she gave:<br>Yet felt the while that woman's slave;--<br>Have kiss'd, as if without design,<br>The babe which ought to have been mine,<br>And show'd, alas! in each caress<br>Time had not made me love the less. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But let this pass--I'll whine no more, <br>Nor seek again an eastern shore; <br>The world befits a busy brain,--<br>I'll hie me to its haunts again.<br>But if, in some succeeding year,<br>When Britain's May is in the sere,'<br>Thou hear'st of one whose deepening crimes<br>Suit with the sablest of the times,<br>Of one, whom love nor pity sways,<br>Nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise;<br>One, who in stern ambition's pride, <br>Perchance not blood shall turn aside;<br>One rank'd in some recording page<br>With the worst anarchs of the age,<br>Him wile thou know--and knowing pause,<br>Nor with the effect forget the cause. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.</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=396095" data-title="Epistle To A Friend, In Answer To Some Lines Exhorting The Author To Be Cheerful, And To Banish Care de Byron" data-description="'OH! banish care'--such ever be
The motto of thy revelry!
Perchance of mine, when wassail nights
Renew those riotous delights,
Wherewith the children of Despair
Lull the lone heart, and `banish care.'
But not in morn's reflecting hour,
When presen..."></div>
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