The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 4Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
General
The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 4
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
Poetry
_Doge_. I will be what I should be, or be nothing;
But never more--oh! never, never more,
O'er the few days or hours which yet await
The blighted old age of Faliero, shall
Sweet Quiet shed her sunset! Never more
Those summer shadows rising from the past
Of a not ill-spent nor inglorious life,
Mellowing the last hours as the night approaches, 460
Shall soothe me to my moment of long rest.
I had but little more to ask, or hope,
Save the regards due to the blood and sweat,
And the soul's labour through which I had toiled
To make my country honoured. As her servant--
Her servant, though her chief--I would have gone
Down to my fathers with a name serene
And pure as theirs; but this has been denied me.
Would I had died at Zara!
_Ang_. There you saved
The state; then live to save her still. A day, 470
Another day like that would be the best
Reproof to them, and sole revenge for you.
_Doge_. But one such day occurs within an age;
My life is little less than one, and 'tis
Enough for Fortune to have granted _once_,
That which scarce one more favoured citizen
May win in many states and years. But why
Thus speak I? Venice has forgot that day--
Then why should I remember it?--Farewell,
Sweet Angiolina! I must to my cabinet; 480
There's much for me to do--and the hour hastens.[408]
_Ang_. Remember what you were.
_Doge_. It were in vain!
Joy's recollection is no longer joy,
While Sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.
_Ang_. At least, whate'er may urge, let me implore
That you will take some little pause of rest:
Your sleep for many nights has been so turbid,
That it had been relief to have awaked you,
Had I not hoped that Nature would o'erpower
At length the thoughts which shook your slumbers thus. 490
An hour of rest will give you to your toils
With fitter thoughts and freshened strength.
_Doge_. I cannot--
I must not, if I could; for never was
Such reason to be watchful: yet a few--
Yet a few days and dream-perturbéd nights,
And I shall slumber well--but where?--no matter.
Adieu, my Angiolina.
_Ang_. Let me be
An instant--yet an instant your companion!
I cannot bear to leave you thus.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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