Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain. [ii] 6. Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shall be, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine. June 10, 1808. [First published, 1809] [Footnote 1: This copy of verses, with eight others, originally appeared in a volume published in 1809 by J. C. Hobhouse, under the title of _Imitations and Translations, From the Ancient and Modern Classics, Together with Original Poems never before published_. The MS. is in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.] [Footnote i: _Stanzas to the Same_. [_Imit. and Transl._, p. 200.]] [Footnote ii: _The memory of that love again._ [MS. L.]] AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? [i] 1. And wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-- I would not give that bosom pain. 2. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my place of rest. 3. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine: And for a while my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine. 4. Oh lady! blessèd be that tear-- It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear [ii] To those whose eyes no tear may steep. 5. Sweet lady! once my heart was warm With every feeling soft as thine; But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm A wretch created to repine. 6. [iii] Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-- I would not give that bosom pain. [1] Aug. 12, 1808. [First published, 1809.] [Footnote 1: It was in one of Byron's fits of melancholy that the following verses were addressed to him by his friend John Cam Hobhouse:-- EPISTLE TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE. Hail! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame Inspires, and animates to deeds of fame; Who feel the noble wish before you die To raise the finger of each passer-by: Hail! may a future age admiring view A Falkland or a Clarendon in you. But as your blood with dangerous passion boils, Beware! and fly from Venus' silken toils: Ah! let the head protect the weaker heart, And Wisdom's Ægis turn on Beauty's dart. * * * * * But if 'tis fix'd that every lord must pair, And you and Newstead must not want an heir, Lose not your pains, and scour the country round, To find a treasure that can ne'er be found! No! take the first the town or court affords, Trick'd out to stock a market for the lords; By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall On one, though wicked, not the worst of all: * * * * *