Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low,
Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain:
But thus unlaurelled to descend in vain,
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast,
And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain,
While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest!
What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest?
XCII.
Oh, known the earliest, and esteemed the most![1][2]
Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear![3]
Though to my hopeless days for ever lost,
In dreams deny me not to see thee here!
And Morn in secret shall renew the tear
Of Consciousness awaking to her woes,
And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier,[4]
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose,
And mourned and mourner lie united in repose.
XCIII.
Here is one fytte[5] of Harold's pilgrimage:
- ↑ —— belov'd the most.—[MS. D.]
- ↑ [With reference to this stanza, Byron wrote to Dallas, October 25, 1811 (Letters, 1898, ii. 58, 59), "I send you a conclusion to the whole. In a stanza towards the end of Canto I. in the line,
"Oh, known the earliest and beloved the most,
I shall alter the epithet to 'esteemed the most.'"]
- ↑ —— where none so long was dear.—[MS. D.]
- ↑ And fancy follow to ——.—[MS. D.]
- ↑ "Fytte" means "part."—[Note erased.]
