Oh, Love! before thy glowing shrine, My early vows were paid; My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine, But these are now decay'd; For thine are pinions like the wind, No trace of thee remains behind, Except, alas! thy jealous stings. Away, away! delusive power, Thou shall not haunt my coming hour; Unless, indeed, without thy wings. 5 Seat of my youth! [2] thy distant spire Recalls each scene of joy; My bosom glows with former fire,-- In mind again a boy. Thy grove of elms, thy verdant hill, Thy every path delights me still, Each flower a double fragrance flings; Again, as once, in converse gay, Each dear associate seems to say, "Friendship is Love without his wings!' 6. My Lycus! [3] wherefore dost thou weep? Thy falling tears restrain; Affection for a time may sleep, But, oh, 'twill wake again. Think, think, my friend, when next we meet, Our long-wished interview, how sweet! From this my hope of rapture springs; While youthful hearts thus fondly swell, Absence my friend, can only tell, "Friendship is Love without his wings!" 7. In one, and one alone deceiv'd, Did I my error mourn? No--from oppressive bonds reliev'd, I left the wretch to scorn. I turn'd to those my childhood knew, With feelings warm, with bosoms true, Twin'd with my heart's according strings; And till those vital chords shall break, For none but these my breast shall wake Friendship, the power deprived of wings! 8 Ye few! my soul, my life is yours, My memory and my hope; Your worth a lasting love insures, Unfetter'd in its scope; From smooth deceit and terror sprung, With aspect fair and honey'd tongue, Let Adulation wait on kings; With joy elate, by snares beset, We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget, "Friendship is Love without his wings!" 9 Fictions and dreams inspire the bard, Who rolls the epic song; Friendship and truth be my reward-- To me no bays belong; If laurell'd Fame but dwells with lies, Me the enchantress ever flies, Whose heart and not whose fancy sings; Simple and young, I dare not feign; Mine be the rude yet heartfelt strain, "Friendship is Love without his wings!" December 29, 1806. [First published, 1832.] [Footnote 1: The MS. is preserved at Newstead.] [Footnote 2: Harrow.] [Footnote 3: Lord Clare had written to Byron, "I think by your last letter that you are very much piqued with most of your friends, and, if I am not much mistaken, a little so with me. In one part you say, 'There is little or no doubt a few years or months will render us as politely indifferent to each other, as if we had never passed a portion of our time together.' Indeed, Byron, you wrong me; and I have no doubt, at least I hope, you are wrong yourself." 'Life', p. 25.] THE PRAYER OF NATURE. [1] 1