Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/245

Rh 17.

And though some trifling share of praise,

To cheer my last declining days,

To me were doubly dear;

Whilst blessing your beloved name,

I'd waive at once a Poet's fame,

To prove a Prophet here. 1807.

I WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILD.

1.

I were a careless child,

Still dwelling in my Highland cave,

Or roaming through the dusky wild,

Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;

The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride,

Accords not with the freeborn soul,

Which loves the mountain's craggy side,

And seeks the rocks where billows roll.