Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/472

430 Learning to lie with silence, would seem true—

And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh,

Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy.

CXXXVII.

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain:

My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,

And my frame perish even in conquering pain;

But there is that within me which shall tire

Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire;

Something unearthly, which they deem not of,

Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,

Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move

In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of Love.

CXXXVIII.

The seal is set.—Now welcome, thou dread Power!

Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here

Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour

With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear;

Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear

Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene

Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear

That we become a part of what has been,

And grow upon the spot—all-seeing but unseen.