Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/555

Rh With honours all my own.

I had a sword—and have a breast

That should have won as haught a crest

As ever waved along the line

Of all these sovereign sires of thine.

Not always knightly spurs are worn

The brightest by the better born;

And mine have lanced my courser's flank

Before proud chiefs of princely rank,

When charging to the cheering cry

Of 'Este and of Victory!'

I will not plead the cause of crime,

Nor sue thee to redeem from time

A few brief hours or days that must

At length roll o'er my reckless dust;—

Such maddening moments as my past,

They could not, and they did not, last;—

Albeit my birth and name be base,

And thy nobility of race

Disdained to deck a thing like me—

Yet in my lineaments they trace

Some features of my father's face,

And in my spirit—all of thee.

From thee this tamelessness of heart—

From thee—nay, wherefore dost thou start?—

From thee in all their vigour came

My arm of strength, my soul of flame—

Thou didst not give me life alone,

But all that made me more thine own.

See what thy guilty love hath done!

Repaid thee with too like a son!