Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/230

190 4.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,

And spoil the blisses that await him;

Yet let my Rival smile in joy,

For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.

5.

Ah! since thy angel form is gone,

My heart no more can rest with any;

But what it sought in thee alone,

Attempts, alas! to find in many,

6.

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!

'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;

Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,

But Pride may teach me to forget thee.

7.

Yet all this giddy waste of years,

This tiresome round of palling pleasures;

These varied loves, these matrons' fears,

These thoughtless strains to Passion's measures—

8.

If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd:—

This cheek, now pale from early riot,

With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd,

But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet.