Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, In aid of others' let me shine; And when, alas! our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine? 5. Quaff while thou canst: another race, When thou and thine, like me, are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead. 6. Why not? since through life's little day Our heads such sad effects produce; Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use. Newstead Abbey, 1808. [First published in the seventh edition of 'Childe Harold'.] [Footnote 1: Byron gave Medwin the following account of this cup:--"The gardener in digging [discovered] a skull that had probably belonged to some jolly friar or monk of the abbey, about the time it was dis-monasteried. Observing it to be of giant size, and in a perfect state of preservation, a strange fancy seized me of having it set and mounted as a drinking cup. I accordingly sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish, and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshell."--Medwin's 'Conversations', 1824, p. 87.] WELL! THOU ART HAPPY. [i] [1] 1. Well! thou art happy, and I feel That I should thus be happy too; For still my heart regards thy weal Warmly, as it was wont to do. 2. Thy husband's blest--and 'twill impart Some pangs to view his happier lot: [ii] But let them pass--Oh! how my heart Would hate him if he loved thee not! 3. When late I saw thy favourite child, I thought my jealous heart would break; But when the unconscious infant smil'd, I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. 4. I kiss'd it,--and repress'd my sighs Its father in its face to see; But then it had its mother's eyes, And they were all to love and me. 5. [iii] Mary, adieu! I must away: While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay; My heart would soon again be thine. 6. I deem'd that Time, I deem'd that Pride, Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side, My heart in all,--save hope,--the same. 7. Yet was I calm: I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime-- We met,--and not a nerve was shook. 8. I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling couldst thou trace; The sullen calmness of despair. 9. Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart be still, or break. November, 1808. [First published, 1809.] [Footnote 1: These lines were written after dining at Annesley with Mr. and Mrs. Chaworth Musters. Their daughter, born 1806, and now Mrs. Hamond, of Westacre, Norfolk, is still (January, 1898) living.] [Footnote i: _To Mrs.----_[erased]. [_MS. L._] _To-----_. [_Imit. and Transl_. Hobhouse, 1809.] ] [Footnote ii: