English

Dear to me were the three sides
Which I hope not to visit again:
The side of Tara, the side of Teltown
And the side of Aed son of Ainmire.

Dear, though your mind stand so averse
That no assaulting words can pierce,
Your swift and angry flight forbear.
What need you doubt? what need you fear?
In vain I strive your thoughts to move,
But stay and hear me yet, sweet Love.

Words may entreat you, not enforce,
Speak though I might till I were hoarse.
Already you resolve, I know,
No gentle look or grace to show.
My passions all must hapless rove;
But stay and hear me yet, sweet Love.

Sith here no help nor hope remains

Dear things! we would not have you learn too much —
Your Ignorance is so charming! We've a notion
That greater knowledge might not lend you such
Sure aid to blind obedience and devotion.

I
At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,
And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away:
"Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!'
Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: " 'Fore God I am no coward;
But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,
And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.
We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?'
II

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I know you are no coward;
You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.

1. Dear Saviour, if these lambs should stray, From thy secure en-
2. Remember still that they are thine, That thy dear sacred
closure's bound, And, lured by worldly joys away, A-
name they bear, Think that the seal of love divine, The
mong the thoughtless crowd be found.
sign of covenant grace they wear.

3. In all their erring, sinful years,
Oh, let them ne'er forgotten be;
Remember all the prayers and tears,
Which made them consecrate to thee.

4. And when these lips no more can pray,

Dear possible, and if you drown,
Nothing is lost, unless my empty hands
Claim the conjectured corpse
Of empty water — a legal vengeance
On my own earnestness.

Dear creature of event, and if I wait the clock,
And if the clock be punctual and you late,
Rail against me, my time, my clock,
And rightfully correct me
With wrong, lateness and ill-temper.

Dear scholar of love,
If by your own formula
I open heaven to you
When you knock punctually at the door,
Then you are there, but I where I was.

The dear old ladies whose cheeks are pink
In spite of the years of Winter's chill,
Are like the Autumn leaves I think,
A little crumpled, but lovely still.

To the Printer of the Chester Courant

Dear object of my love, whose pow'rful charms
With bliss ecstatic filled my clinging arms!
That bliss is past; and nought for me remains,
But foul reproach, and never-pitied pains!
For (nature baffling ev'ry art I tried)
My sister has my waxing waist descried,
And brands me oft with each opprobious name,
Though the crack's conscious she deserves the same:
Her loose associate, sated, from her flies,
And oft, though vainly, to seduce me tries;

[These lines are copied from a leaf of the manuscript of the second canto of Childe Harold .]

Dear object of defeated care!
Though now of Love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair
Thine image and my tears are left.

'T is said with Sorrow Time can cope;
But this I feel can ne'er be true;
For by the death-blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.
A THENS , January , 1811. [First published, 1812.]

Dear, near and true--no truer Time himself
Can prove you, though he make you evermore
Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life
Shoots to the fall--take this and pray that he
Who wrote it, honouring your sweet faith in him,
May trust himself; and after praise and scorn,
As one who feels the immeasurable world,
Attain the wise indifference of the wise;
And after Autumn past--if left to pass
His autumn into seeming-leafless days--
Draw toward the long frost and longest night,
Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit