IN hearts like thine ne'er may I hold a place Till I renounce all sense, all shame, all grace-- That seat,--like seats, the bane of Freedom's realm, But dear to those presiding at the helm-- Is basely purchased, not with gold alone; Add Conscience, too, this bargain is your own-- 'T is thine to offer with corrupting art The _rotten borough_[62] of the human heart. ?1814. [From an autograph MS., now for the first time printed.] FOOTNOTES: [62] [The phrase, "rotten borough," was used by Sir F. Burdett, _Examiner_, October 12, 1812.] ON NAPOLEON'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA.[63] ONCE fairly set out on his party of pleasure, Taking towns at his liking, and crowns at his leisure, From Elba to Lyons and Paris he goes, Making _balls for_ the ladies, and _bows to_ his foes. _March 27, 1815._ [First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 611.] FOOTNOTES: [63] [It may be taken for granted that the "source" of this epigram was a paragraph in the _Morning Chronicle_ of March 27, 1815: "In the _Moniteur_ of Thursday we find the Emperor's own account of his _jaunt_ from the Island of Elba to the palace of the Thuilleries. It seems certainly more like a jaunt of pleasure than the progress of an invader through a country to be gained."] ENDORSEMENT TO THE DEED OF SEPARATION, IN THE APRIL OF 1816. A YEAR ago you swore, fond she! "To love, to honour," and so forth: Such was the vow you pledged to me, And here's exactly what 't is worth. [First published, _Poetical Works_, 1831, vi. 454.] [TO GEORGE ANSON BYRON(?)[64]] 1. AND, dost thou ask the reason of my sadness? Well, I will tell it thee, unfeeling boy! 'Twas ill report that urged my brain to madness, 'Twas thy tongue's venom poisoned all my joy. 2. The sadness which thou seest is not sorrow; My wounds are far too deep for simple grief; The heart thus withered, seeks in vain to borrow From calm reflection, comfort or relief. 3. The arrow's flown, and dearly shalt thou rue it; No mortal hand can rid me of my pain: My heart is pierced, but thou canst not subdue it-- Revenge is left, and is not left in vain. ?1816. [First published, _Nicnac_, March 25, 1823.] FOOTNOTES: [64] ["A short time before Lord Byron quitted England, in 1816, he addressed these lines to an individual by whom he deemed himself injured; they are but little known."--_Nicnac_, March 25, 1823.]