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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396243" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Edward Noel Long, Esq.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.'~Horace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Dear Long, in this sequester'd scene,<br>While all around in slumber lie,<br>The joyous days, which ours have been<br>Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye;<br>Thus, if, amidst the gathering storm,<br>While clouds the darken'd noon deform,<br>Yon heaven assumes a varied glow,<br>I hail the sky's celestial bow,<br>Which spreads the sign of future peace,<br>And bids the war of tempests cease.<br>Ah! though the present brings but pain,<br>I think those days may come again;<br>Or if, in melancholy mood,<br>Some lurking envious fear intrude,<br>To check my bosom's fondest thought,<br>And interrupt the golden dream<br>I crush the fiend with malice fraught,<br>And, still, indulge my wonted theme.<br>Although we ne'er again can trace,<br>In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore,<br>Nor through the groves of Ida chace<br>Our raptured visions, as before;<br>Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion,<br>And Manhood claims his stern dominion,<br>Age will not every hope destroy,<br>But yields some hours of sober joy.<br>Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing<br>Will shed around some dews of spring:<br>But, if his scythe must sweep the flowers<br>Which bloom among the fairy bowers,<br>Where smiling Youth delights to dwell,<br>And hearts with early rapture swell;<br>In frowning Age, with cold control,<br>Confines the current of the soul,<br>Congeals the tear of Pity's eye,<br>Or checks the sympathetic sigh,<br>Or hears, unmov'd, Misfortune's groan,<br>And bids me feel for self alone;<br>Oh! may my bosom never learn<br>To soothe its wonted heedless flow;<br>Still may I rove untutor'd, wild,<br>But ne'er forget another's woe.<br>Yes, as you knew me in the days<br>O'er which Remembrance yet delays<br>And even in age, at heart a child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though, now, on airy visions borne,<br>To you my soul is still the same.<br>Oft has it ben my fate to mourn,<br>And all my former joys are tame:<br>But, hence! ye hours of sabl hue!<br>Your frowns are gone, my sorrows o'er:<br>By every bliss my childhood knew,<br>I'll think upon your shade no more.<br>Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past,<br>And caves their sullen roar enclose,<br>We heed no more the wintery blast,<br>When lull'd by zephyr to repose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full often has my infant Muse<br>Attun'd to love her languid lyre;<br>But, now, without a theme to choose,<br>The strains in stolen sighs expire.<br>My youthful nymps, alas! are flown;<br>E — is a wife, and C — a mother,<br>And Carolina sighs alone,<br>And Mary's given to another;<br>And Cora's eye, which roll'd on me,<br>Can now no more my love recall -<br>In truth, dear LONG, 'twas time to flee -<br>For Cora's eye will shine on all.<br>And though the Sun, with genial rays,<br>His beams aike to all displays,<br>And every lady's eye's a sun,<br>These last should be confin'd to one.<br>The souls' meridian don't become her,<br>Whose sun desplays a general summer!<br>Thus faint is every former flame,<br>And Passion's self is now a name;<br>As, when the ebbing flames are low,<br>The aid which once improv'd their light,<br>And bade them burn with fiercer glow,<br>Now quenches all their sparks in night;<br>Thus has it been with Passion's fires,<br>As many a boy and girl remembers,<br>While all the force of love expires,<br>Extinguish'd with the dying embers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now, dear LONG, 'tis midnight's noon,<br>And clouds obscure the watery moon,<br>Whose beauties I shall not rehearse,<br>Describ'd in every stripling's verse;<br>For why should I the path go o'er<br>Which every bard has trod before?<br>Yet ere yon silver lamp of night<br>Has thrice perform'd her stated round,<br>Has thrice retraced her path of light,<br>And chased away the gloom profound,<br>I trust that we, my gentle Friend,<br>Shall see her rolling orbit wend,<br>Above the dear-loved peaceful seat,<br>Which once contain'd our youth's retreat;<br>And then, with those our childhood knew,<br>We'll mingle in the festive crew;<br>While many a tale of former day<br>Shall wing the laughing hours away;<br>And all the flow of souls shall pour<br>Tha sacred intellectual shower,<br>Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn<br>Scarce glimmers through the mist of Morn.</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=396243" data-title="To Edward Noel Long, Esq. de Byron" data-description="'Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.'~Horace.


Dear Long, in this sequester'd scene,
While all around in slumber lie,
The joyous days, which ours have been
Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye;
Thus, if, amidst the gathering storm,
While clouds ..."></div>
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