The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 7. Poetry

To shine with splendour, then to disappear!
Thy years shall have an end, and thou no more
Bright through the world enlivening radiance pour,
But sleep within thy clouds, and fail to rise,
Heedless when Morning calls thee to the skies!
Then now exult, O Sun! and gaily shine,
While Youth and Strength and Beauty all are thine.
For Age is dark, unlovely, as the light
Shed by the Moon when clouds deform the night,
Glimmering uncertain as they hurry past.
Loud o'er the plain is heard the northern blast,
Mists shroud the hills, and 'neath the growing gloom,
The weary traveller shrinks and sighs for home.

    1806.
    [First published, Atlantic Monthly, December, 1898. [2 - [I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. Pierre De La Rose for sending me a copy of the foregoing Version of Ossian's Address to the Sun, which was "Privately printed at the Press of Oliver B. Graves, Cambridge, Massachusetts, June the Tenth, MDCCCXCVIII.," and was reprinted in the Atlantic Monthly in December, 1898. A prefatory note entitled, "From Lord Byron's Notes," is prefixed to the Version: "In Lord Byron's copy of The Poems of Ossian (printed by Dewick and Clarke, London, 1806), which, since 1874, has been in the possession of the Library of Harvard University as part of the Sumner Bequest. The notes which follow appear in Byron's hand." (For the Notes, see the Atlantic Monthly, 1898, vol. lxxxii. pp. 810-814.)It is strange that Byron should have made two versions (for another "version" from the Newstead MSS., see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 229-231) of the "Address to the Sun," which forms the conclusion of "Carthon;" but the Harvard version appears to be genuine. It is to be noted that Byron appended to the earlier version eighteen lines of his own composition, by way of moral or application.]]]

LINES TO MR. HODGSON.

WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET

1

Huzza! Hodgson[3 - [For Francis Hodgson (1781-1852), see Letters, 1898, i. 195, note 1.]], we are going,
Our embargo's off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvas o'er the mast.
From aloft the signal's streaming,
Hark! the farewell gun is fired;
Women screeching, tars blaspheming,
Tell us that our time's expired.
Here's a rascal
Come to task all,
Prying from the Custom-house;
Trunks unpacking
Cases cracking,
Not a corner for a mouse
Scapes unsearched amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.

2

Now our boatmen quit their mooring,
And all hands must ply the oar;
Baggage from the quay is lowering,
We're impatient, push from shore.
"Have a care! that case holds liquor —
Stop the boat – I'm sick – oh Lord!"
"Sick, Ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker,
Ere you've been an hour on board."
Thus are screaming
Men and women,
Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;
Here entangling,
All are wrangling,
Stuck together close as wax. —
Such the general noise and racket,
Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.

3

Now we've reached her, lo! the Captain,
Gallant Kidd,[4 - [Compare Peter Pindar's Ode to a Margate Hoy—"Go, beauteous Hoy, in safety ev'ry inch!That storm should wreck thee, gracious Heav'n forbid!Whether commanded by brave Captain FinchOr equally tremendous Captain Kidd."]] commands the crew;
Passengers their berths are clapt in,
Some to grumble, some to spew.
"Hey day! call you that a cabin?
Why't is hardly three feet square!
Not enough to stow Queen Mab in —
Who the deuce can harbour there?"
"Who, sir? plenty —
Nobles twenty
Did at once my vessel fill." —
"Did they? Jesus,
How you squeeze us!
Would to God they did so still!
Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket
Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet."

4

Fletcher! Murray! Bob![5 - [Murray was "Joe" Murray, an ancient retainer of the "Wicked Lord." Bob was Robert Rushton, the "little page" of "Childe Harold's Good Night." (See Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 26, note 1.)]] where are you?
Stretched along the deck like logs —
Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!
Here's a rope's end for the dogs.
Hobhouse muttering fearful curses,
As the hatchway down he rolls,
Now his breakfast, now his verses,
Vomits forth – and damns our souls.
"Here's a stanza[6 - [For "the stanza," addressed to the "Princely offspring of Braganza," published in the Morning Post, December 30, 1807, see English Bards, etc., line 142, note 1, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 308, 309.]]
On Braganza —
Help!" – "A couplet?" – "No, a cup
Of warm water – "
"What's the matter?"
"Zounds! my liver's coming up;
I shall not survive the racket
Of this brutal Lisbon Packet."

5

Now at length we're off for Turkey,