The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/On the Death of the Duke of Dorset
ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET.
I heard thy fate without a tear,
Thy loss with scarce a sigh;
And yet thou wast surpassing dear,
Too loved of all to die.
I know not what hath seared my eye—
Its tears refuse to start;
But every drop, it bids me dry,
Falls dreary on my heart.
Yes, dull and heavy, one by one,
They sink and turn to care,
As caverned waters wear the stone,
Yet dropping harden there;
They cannot petrify more fast,
Than feelings sunk remain,
Which coldly fixed regard the past,
But never melt again.
[First published, Works, Paris, 1826, p. 716.]
- [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray. The MS. is headed, in pencil, "Lines written on the Death of the Duke of Dorset, a College Friend of Lord Byron's, who was killed by a fall from his horse while hunting." It is endorsed, "Bought of Markham Thorpe, August 29, 1844." (For Duke of Dorset, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 194, n. 2; and Letters, 1899, iii. 181, n. 1.)]
- —— it bids deny.—[MS. M.]