ON PARTING.
86 lines✦
. The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has leftShall never part from mine,Till happier hours restore the giftUntainted back to thine. 2. Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,An equal love may see:[o]The tear that from thine eyelid streamsCan weep no change in me. 3. I ask no pledge to make me blestIn gazing when alone;[p]Nor one memorial for a breast,Whose thoughts are all thine own. 4. Nor need I write--to tell the taleMy pen were doubly weak:Oh! what can idle words avail,[q]Unless the heart could speak? 5. By day or night, in weal or woe,That heart, no longer free,Must bear the love it cannot show,And silent ache for thee. _March_, 1811.[First published, _Childe Harold_, 1812(4to).] FAREWELL TO MALTA.[19] Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!Adieu, Sirocco, sun, and sweat!Adieu, thou palace rarely entered!Adieu, ye mansions where--I've ventured!Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairsAdieu, ye merchants often failing!Adieu, thou mob for ever railing!Adieu, ye packets--without letters!Adieu, ye fools--who ape your betters! 10Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine,That gave me fever, and the spleen!Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,Adieu his Excellency's dancers![21]Adieu to Peter--whom no fault's in,But could not teach a colonel waltzing;Adieu, ye females fraught with graces!Adieu red coats, and redder faces!Adieu the supercilious airOf all that strut _en militaire_![22] 20I go--but God knows when, or why,To smoky towns and cloudy sky,To things (the honest truth to say)As bad--but in a different way. Farewell to these, but not adieu,Triumphant sons of truest blue!While either Adriatic shore,[23]And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more,And nightly smiles, and daily dinners,[24]Proclaim you war and women's winners. 30Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is,And take my rhyme--because 'tis "gratis." And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,[25]Perhaps you think I mean to praise her--And were I vain enough to thinkMy praise was worth this drop of ink,A line--or two--were no hard matter,As here, indeed, I need not flatter:But she must be content to shineIn better praises than in mine, 40With lively air, and open heart,And fashion's ease, without its art;Her hours can gaily glide along.Nor ask the aid of idle song. And now, O Malta! since thou'st got us,Thou little military hot-house!I'll not offend with words uncivil,And wish thee rudely at the Devil,But only stare from out my casement,And ask, "for what is such a place meant?" 50Then, in my solitary nook,Return to scribbling, or a book,Or take my physic while I'm able(Two spoonfuls hourly, by this label),Prefer my nightcap to my beaver,And bless my stars I've got a fever. _May_ 26, 1811.[26][First published, 1816.]
✦