Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/125

Rh When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,

And flies with every changing gale of spring;

Not to the aching frame alone confin'd,

Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:

What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe,

Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow,

With Resignation wage relentless strife,

While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life.

Yet less the pang when, through the tedious hour,

Remembrance sheds around her genial power,

Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given,

When Love was bliss, and Beauty form'd our heaven;

Or, dear to youth, pourtrays each childish scene,

Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.

As when, through clouds that pour the summer storm,

The orb of day unveils his distant form,

Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain

And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain;

Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams,

The Sun of Memory, glowing through my dreams,

Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze,

To scenes far distant points his paler rays,

Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,

The past confounding with the present day.

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,

Which still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought;

My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields,