No! for thou never canst be mine, United by the priest's decree: By any ties but those divine, Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be. 6. Then let the secret fire consume, Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom, Rather than spread its guilty glow. 7. I will not ease my tortur'd heart, By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. 8. Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave More than I here shall dare to tell; Thy innocence and mine to save,-- I bid thee now a last farewell. 9. Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair And hope no more thy soft embrace; Which to obtain, my soul would dare, All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. 10. At least from guilt shall thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shall thou be to love. STANZAS TO A LADY, WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOËNS. [1] 1. This votive pledge of fond esteem, Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou'lt prize; It sings of Love's enchanting dream, A theme we never can despise. 2. Who blames it but the envious fool, The old and disappointed maid? Or pupil of the prudish school, In single sorrow doom'd to fade? 3. Then read, dear Girl! with feeling read, For thou wilt ne'er be one of those; To thee, in vain, I shall not plead In pity for the Poet's woes. 4. He was, in sooth, a genuine Bard; His was no faint, fictitious flame: Like his, may Love be thy reward, But not thy hapless fate the same. [Footnote: 1. Lord Strangford's 'Poems from the Portuguese by Luis de Camoëns' and "Little's" Poems are mentioned by Moore as having been Byron's favourite study at this time ('Life', P--39).] TO M. S. G. [1] 1. When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive; Extend not your anger to sleep; For in visions alone your affection can live,-- I rise, and it leaves me to weep. 2. Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast, Shed o'er me your languor benign; Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last, What rapture celestial is mine! 3. They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, Mortality's emblem is given; To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, If this be a foretaste of Heaven! 4. Ah! frown not, sweet Lady, unbend your soft brow, Nor deem me too happy in this; If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, Thus doom'd, but to gaze upon bliss. 5. Though in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake, will be torture sufficient. [Footnote 1: "C. G. B. to E. P." 'MS. Newstead'.] TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. Justum et tenacem propositi virum. HOR. 'Odes', iii. 3. I. 1.