Works , 1832, vii. 161

1.

Why should my anxious breast repine,

Because my youth is fled?

Days of delight may still be mine;

Affection is not dead.

In tracing back the years of youth,

One firm record, one lasting truth

Celestial consolation brings;

Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat,

Where first my heart responsive beat,—

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

2

Through few, but deeply chequer'd years,

What moments have been mine!

Now half obscured by clouds of tears,

Now bright in rays divine;

Howe'er my future doom be cast,

My soul, enraptured with the past,

To one idea fondly clings;

Friendship! that thought is all thine own,

Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone—

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

3

Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave

Their branches on the gale,

Unheeded heaves a simple grave,

Which tells the common tale;

Round this unconscious schoolboys stray,

Till the dull knell of childish play

From yonder studious mansion rings;

But here, whene'er my footsteps move,

My silent tears too plainly prove,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

4

Oh, Love! before thy glowing shrine,

My early vows were paid;

My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine,

But these are now decay'd;

For thine are pinions like the wind,

No trace of thee remains behind,

Except, alas! thy jealous stings.

Away, away! delusive power,

Thou shall not haunt my coming hour;

Unless, indeed, without thy wings.

5

Seat of my youth 2 ! thy distant spire

Recalls each scene of joy;

My bosom glows with former fire,—

In mind again a boy.

Thy grove of elms, thy verdant hill,

Thy every path delights me still,

Each flower a double fragrance flings;

Again, as once, in converse gay,

Each dear associate seems to say,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!'

6.

My Lycus 3 ! wherefore dost thou weep?

Thy falling tears restrain;

Affection for a time may sleep,

But, oh, 'twill wake again.

Think, think, my friend, when next we meet,

Our long-wished interview, how sweet!

From this my hope of rapture springs;

While youthful hearts thus fondly swell,

Absence my friend, can only tell,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

7.

In one, and one alone deceiv'd,

Did I my error mourn?

No—from oppressive bonds reliev'd,

I left the wretch to scorn.

I turn'd to those my childhood knew,

With feelings warm, with bosoms true,

Twin'd with my heart's according strings;

And till those vital chords shall break,

For none but these my breast shall wake

Friendship, the power deprived of wings!

8

Ye few! my soul, my life is yours,

My memory and my hope;

Your worth a lasting love insures,

Unfetter'd in its scope;

From smooth deceit and terror sprung,

With aspect fair and honey'd tongue,

Let Adulation wait on kings;

With joy elate, by snares beset,

We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

9

Fictions and dreams inspire the bard,

Who rolls the epic song;

Friendship and truth be my reward—

To me no bays belong;

If laurell'd Fame but dwells with lies,

Me the enchantress ever flies,

Whose heart and not whose fancy sings;

Simple and young, I dare not feign;

Mine be the rude yet heartfelt strain,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

December 29, 1806. [First published, 1832.]

Footnote 1: Ý The MS. is preserved at Newstead.

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Footnote 2: Ý Harrow.

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Footnote 3: Ý Lord Clare had written to Byron,

"I think by your last letter that you are very much piqued with most of your friends, and, if I am not much mistaken, a little so with me. In one part you say,

'There is little or no doubt a few years or months will render us as politely indifferent to each other, as if we had never passed a portion of our time together.'