One though perhaps as any Maxwell free, Yet scarce a copy, Claribel, of thee; Not very ugly, and not very old, A little pert indeed, but not a scold; One that, in short, may help to lead a life Not farther much from comfort than from strife; And when she dies, and disappoints your fears, Shall leave some joys for your declining years. But, as your early youth some time allows, Nor custom yet demands you for a spouse, Some hours of freedom may remain as yet, For one who laughs alike at love and debt: Then, why in haste? put off the evil day, And snatch at youthful comforts while you may! Pause! nor so soon the various bliss forego That single souls, and such alone, can know: Ah! why too early careless life resign, Your morning slumber, and your evening wine; Your loved companion, and his easy talk; Your Muse, invoked in every peaceful walk? What! can no more your scenes paternal please, Scenes sacred long to wise, unmated ease? The prospect lengthen'd o'er the distant down, Lakes, meadows, rising woods, and all your own? What! shall your Newstead, shall your cloister'd bowers, The high o'erhanging arch and trembling towers! Shall these, profaned with folly or with strife, An ever fond, or ever angry wife! Shall these no more confess a manly sway, But changeful woman's changing whims obey? Who may, perhaps, as varying humour calls, Contract your cloisters and o'erthrow your walls; Let Repton loose o'er all the ancient ground, Change round to square, and square convert to round; Root up the elms' and yews' too solemn gloom, And fill with shrubberies gay and green their room; Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre, Where gravel'd walks and flowers alternate glare; And quite transform, in every point complete, Your Gothic abbey to a country seat. Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day, When you beneath the female yoke shall bend, And lose your _wit_, your _temper_, and your _friend_. [A] Trin. Coll. Camb., 1808.] [Sub-Footnote A: In his mother's copy of Hobhouse's volume, Byron has written with a pencil, "_I have lost them all, and shall WED accordingly_. 1811. B."] [Footnote i: Stanzas. [MS. L.] To the Same. [Imit. and Transl., p 202.]] [Footnote ii: For one whose life is torment here, And only in the dust may sleep. [MS. L.]] [Footnote iii: The MS. inserts-- Lady I will not tell my tale For it would rend thy melting heart; 'Twere pity sorrow should prevail O'er one so gentle as thou art. [MS. L.]] REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT. [i] 1. Remind me not, remind me not, Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours, When all my soul was given to thee; Hours that may never be forgot, Till Time unnerves our vital powers, And thou and I shall cease to be. 2.