Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/319

4.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
⁠In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
⁠What nobler substitute than wine?

5.

Quaif while thou canst: another race,
⁠When thou and thine, like me, are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
⁠And rhyme and revel with the dead.

6.

Why not? since through life's little day
⁠Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
⁠This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808. [First published in the seventh edition of Childe Harold.]

WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.^[1][2]

1.

Well! thou art happy, and I feel

⁠That I should thus be happy too;

1. To Mrs. —— [erased].—[MS. L.] To ——.—[Imit. and Transl. Hobhouse, 1809.]
2. [These lines were written after dining at Annesley with Mr. and Mrs. Chaworth Musters. Their daughter, born 1806, and now Mrs. Hamond, of Westacre, Norfolk, is still (January, 1898) living.]