Classic Poem

[First printed in Edition of 1898 from a manuscript at Newstead.]

If fate should seal my Death to-morrow
(Though much I hope she will postpone it),
I've held a share of Joy and Sorrow ,
Enough for Ten ; and here I own it.

I've lived, as many other men live,
And yet, I think, with more enjoyment:
For could I through my days again live,
I'd pass them in the same employment.

That is to say, with some exception ,
For though I will not make confession,
I've seen too much of man's deception
Ever again to trust profession.

Some sage Mammas with gesture haughty,
Pronounce me quite a youthful Sinner —
But Daughters say, " although he's naughty,
You must not check a Young Beginner! "

I've loved, and many damsels know it —
But whom I don't intend to mention,
As certain stanzas also show it,
Some say deserving Reprehension .

Some ancient Dames, of virtue fiery
(Unless Report does much belie them),
Have lately made a sharp Enquiry,
And much it grieves me to deny them.

Two whom I loved had eyes of Blue ,
To which I hope you've no objection;
The Rest had eyes of darker Hue —
Each Nymph, of course, was all perfection .

But here I'll close my chaste Description,
Nor say the deeds of animosity;
For silence is the best prescription,
To physic idle curiosity.

Of Friends I've known a goodly Hundred —
For finding one in each acquaintance,
By some deceived , by others plunder'd,
Friendship , to me, was not Repentance .

At School I thought like other Children ;
Instead of Brains , a fine Ingredient,
Romance , my youthful Head bewildering ,
To Sense had made me disobedient.

A victim, nearly from affection,
To certain very precious scheming ,
The still remaining recollection
Has cured my boyish soul of Dreaming .

By Heaven! I rather would forswear
The Earth, and all the joys reserved me,
Than dare again the specious Snare ,
From which my Fate and Heaven preserved me.

Still I possess some Friends who love me —
In each a much esteem'd and true one;
The Wealth of Worlds shall never move me
To quit their Friendship, for a new one.

But Becher! you 're a reverend pastor ,
Now take it in consideration,
Whether for penance I should fast, or
Pray for my sins in expiation.

I own myself the child of Folly ,
But not so wicked as they make me —
I soon must die of melancholy,
If Female smiles should e'er forsake me.

Philosophers have never doubted ,
That Ladies' Lips were made for kisses!
For Love! I could not live without it,
For such a cursed place as This is .

Say, Becher, I shall be forgiven!
If you don't warrant my salvation,
I must resign all Hopes of Heaven!
For, Faith , I can't withstand Temptation.
P. S. — These were written between one and two, after midnight . I have not corrected , or revised . Yours,
B YRON .