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WRITTEN IN AN INN.
Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round,
Where'er his various tour has been;
May sigh to think how oft he found
His warmest welcome at an inn.
Shenstone.
Where'er his various tour has been;
May sigh to think how oft he found
His warmest welcome at an inn.
Shenstone.
LINES SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY LADY BYRON,
IN ANSWER TO "FARE THEE WELL!"
IN ANSWER TO "FARE THEE WELL!"
Powerless are thy magic numbers
To revive affection's flame,
In a bosom where it slumbers,
Shrouded now with duty's name.
To revive affection's flame,
In a bosom where it slumbers,
Shrouded now with duty's name.
Sacred there 'twill rest for ever,
Death alone its gleams remove !
Still it lives—but never, never,
Can it more awake to love.
Death alone its gleams remove !
Still it lives—but never, never,
Can it more awake to love.
Did neglect's cold aspect chill it?
Did unkindness quench its ray ?
Did thy wayward passions quell it ?
Harold ! let thy bosom say !
Did unkindness quench its ray ?
Did thy wayward passions quell it ?
Harold ! let thy bosom say !
Yes—that breast has been my pillow,
Yet the treacherous wound it gave,
As the smooth deceitful billow,
Wrecks the bark that trusts its wave.
Yet the treacherous wound it gave,
As the smooth deceitful billow,
Wrecks the bark that trusts its wave.
