Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/226

186 Oh! may my bosom never learn

To soothe its wonted heedless flow;

Still, still, despise the censor stern,

But ne'er forget another's woe.

Yes, as you knew me in the days,

O'er which Remembrance yet delays

Still may I rove untutor'd, wild,

And even in age, at heart a child.

Though, now, on airy visions borne,

To you my soul is still the same.

Oft has it been my fate to mourn,

And all my former joys are tame:

But, hence! ye hours of sable hue!

Your frowns are gone, my sorrows o'er:

By every bliss my childhood knew,

I'll think upon your shade no more.

Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past,

And caves their sullen roar enclose,

We heed no more the wintry blast,

When lull'd by zephyr to repose.