Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/582

544 Back on thy bosom with reflected blight!

And make thee in thy leprosy of mind

As loathsome to thyself as to mankind!

Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate,

Black—as thy will for others would create:

Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust,

And thy soul welter in its hideous crust.

Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,

The widowed couch of fire, that thou hast spread!

Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer,

Look on thine earthly victims—and despair!

Down to the dust!—and, as thou rott'st away,

Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.

But for the love I bore, and still must bear,

To her thy malice from all ties would tear—

Thy name—thy human name—to every eye

The climax of all scorn should hang on high,

Exalted o'er thy less abhorred compeers—

And festering in the infamy of years. [First draft, March 29, 1816. First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]

STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.

all around grew drear and dark,

And reason half withheld her ray—