As quickly they depart, and leave thy evening
To mourn the absent ray: night at hand,
Then croaks the raven conscience, time misspent;
The owl despair screams hideous, and the bat
Confusion flutters up and down—
Life's but a lengthen'd day not worth the waking for.
—— If he speak,
'Tis scarce above a word; as he were born Alone to do, and did disdain to talk; At least to talk where he must not command.
We hear and see, but none defines—
Involuntary sparks of thought,
Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought,
And form a strange intelligence,
Alike mysterious and intense,
Which link the burning chain that binds,
Without their will, young hearts and minds;
Conveying as the electric wire,
We know not how, the absorbing fire.
Byron.
TO A BROTHEB.
- Thou partner of my life and name
From one dear source, whom nature form'd the same,
Allied more nearly in each nobler part,
And more the friend than brother of my heart.
