LADY BYRON TO HER HUSBAND.
Fare thee well, inconstant lover!
If thy fickle flame was love;—
Though our transient joys are over,
I can ne'er inconstant prove.
Man may boast a deathless passion,
Swear his love shall ne'er decline;
Yet, unfix'd as changing fashion,
Woman's fate may change like mine!
Once I thought I might believe thee;
Might on Byron's oath rely;
But my arms do scarce receive thee
Ere thy oaths, unheeded, die.
From paternal arms you took me,
Stole me from a mother's care;
Then in wantonness forsook me
For a less admiring fair.
Prayers and tears were unavailing,
Nought thy purpose could beguile;
Not a wife, her woes bewailing,
Nor a lovely infant's smile.
Heaven had form'd thee for unkindness,
Steel'd thy soul to all that 's mild;
Dimm'd thy moral sight with blindness,
Left thee Nature's wayward child.
Stay! I must not—cannot chide thee;
What thou hast not, who can blame?
Virtue is what heaven denied thee,
And the world has done the same.
Think not I can e'er forget thee;
No, thy griefs will all be mine;
I shall weep when foes beset thee,
Smile when fortune's sun shall shine.
Must I—can I—shall a mother
Hate the father of her child?
Gracious Heaven! my anguish smother,—
At that name, my infant smiled!
Smiled to think she had a father
To protect her growing years;—
Unsuspecting orphan, rather
Drown thine eye in floods of tears!
Father, now, sweet babe, thou hast not;
All his care you must forego;
Other woes thy peace may blast not,
Yet thou hast this keenest wo!
Orphan babe! my care shall ever
Guard thee from the ills of life;
Death alone hath power to sever
Byron's babe and constant wife!
