Poem by George Gordon Byron

To a Lady (Oh! had my Fate been join'd with thine)

1.

Oh! had my Fate been join'd with thine,
   ⁠As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
   ⁠For, then, my peace had not been broken.

2.

To thee, these early faults I owe,
⁠   To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
⁠   'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.

3.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
   ⁠And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
⁠   Bestow'd by thee upon another.

4.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
⁠   And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
⁠   For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.

5.

Ah! since thy angel form is gone,
⁠   My heart no more can rest with any;
But what it sought in thee alone,
⁠   Attempts, alas! to find in many,

6.

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
   ⁠'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;
Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
⁠   But Pride may teach me to forget thee.

7.

Yet all this giddy waste of years,
   ⁠This tiresome round of palling pleasures;
These varied loves, these matrons' fears,
    ⁠These thoughtless strains to Passion's measures—

8.

If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd:—
   ⁠This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd,
⁠   But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet.

9.

Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,
   ⁠For Nature seem'd to smile before thee;
And once my Breast abhorr'd deceit,—
⁠   For then it beat but to adore thee.

10.

But, now, I seek for other joys—
⁠   To think, would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,
⁠   I conquer half my Bosom's sadness.

11.

Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
⁠   In spite of every vain endeavour;
And fiends might pity what I feel—
   ⁠To know that thou art lost for ever.

1. Churchill’s Grave
2. Epitaph
3. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. To the Earl of Clare

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