Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/170

I grant my love imperfect, all
That mortals by the name miscall;
Then deem it evil, what thou wilt;
But say, oh say, hers was not Guilt!
She was my Life's unerring Light:
That quenched—what beam shall break my night?^{[lower-roman 1]}
Oh! would it shone to lead me still,
Although to death or deadliest ill!
Why marvel ye, if they who lose
This present joy, this future hope, 1150
No more with Sorrow meekly cope;
In phrensy then their fate accuse;
In madness do those fearful deeds
That seem to add but Guilt to Woe?
Alas! the breast that inly bleeds
Hath nought to dread from outward blow:
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
Cares little into what abyss.^{[lower-roman 2]}
Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now
To thee, old man, my deeds appear: 1160
I read abhorrence on thy brow,
And this too was I born to bear!
'Tis true, that, like that bird of prey,
With havock have I marked my way:
But this was taught me by the dove,
To die and know no second love.
This lesson yet hath man to learn,
Taught by the thing he dares to spurn:
The bird that sings within the brake,
The swan that swims upon the lake, 1170
One mate, and one alone, will take.

Variants

1. That quenched, I wandered far in night.
   or, 'Tis quenched, and I am lost in night.—[MS.]
2. Must plunge into a dark abyss.—[MS.]