While still the visions to my heart are prest,
The voice of Love will murmur in my rest:
I hear—I wake—and in the sound rejoice!
I hear again,—but, ah! no Brother's voice.
A Hermit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way;
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,
I cannot call one single blossom mine:
What then remains? in solitude to groan,
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone?240
Thus, must I cling to some endearing hand,
And none more dear, than Ida's social band.
Alonzo![1] best and dearest of my friends,[2]
Thy name ennobles him, who thus commends:
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise;
The praise is his, who now that tribute pays.
Oh! in the promise of thy early youth,
If Hope anticipate the words of Truth!
- ↑ "Lord Clare." [Annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions in the British Museum.] [Lines 243-264, as the note in Byron's handwriting explains, were originally intended to apply to Lord Clare. In Hours of Idleness "Joannes" became "Alonzo," and the same lines were employed to celebrate the memory of his friend the Hon. John Wingfield, of the Coldstream Guards, brother to Richard, fourth Viscount Powerscourt. He died at Coimbra in 1811, in his twentieth year. Byron at one time gave him the preference over all other friends.]
- ↑ Joannes! best and dearest of my friends.—[P. on V. Occasions.]
