My heart's fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye,
As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by;
...
I'm sick of fame-I'm gorged with it-so full
I almost could regret the happier hour
When northern oracles proclaimed me dull,
...
Amidst the flowers rich and gay,
That deck the fairy paths of pleasure,
I mark'd one violet in my way,
And seiz'd the little purple treasure.
...
If a dark wretch e'er stray'd,
Worse than the first fell slayer,
'Tis he that wooes a maid,
...
Let the harp be mute for ever,
Rosa wakes no more the strain,
All its strings asunder sever,
Rosa will not sing again:
...
Harriet Wilson, shall I tell thee where,
Beside my being cleverer,
We differ?-thou wert hired to hold thy tongue,
...
Would I had seen thee dead and cold,
In thy lone grave asleep,
Than live, thy falsehood to behold,
...
After many a well-fought day,
When with gen'rous ardour burning,
Soldiers to their home returning,
Chide the long and tardy way.
...
Little birds in yonder grove,
Making nests, and making love,
Come sing upon your favorite tree,
...
As the flower early gathered, whilst fresh in its bloom,
So was she whom I mourn for sent young to the tomb;
...
By that smile which made me blest,
And left me soon the wretch you see-
By that heart I once possest,
...
'Farewell.'
Ah! frown not thus-nor turn from me,
I must not-dare not-look on thee;
Too well thou know'st how dear thou art,
...
Sing not for others but for me,
In ev'ry thought, in ev'ry strain,
Though I perchance am far from thee,
And we may never meet again:
...
Sir Henry De Vaux came across the sea,
To visit his native clime;
A face like an angel of light had he,
But his heart was sear'd by crime.
...
Gentleman.
The kiss that's on thy lip impress'd,
Was cold as parting kiss should be;
...
This heart has never stoop'd its pride
To slavish love, or woman's wile;
But, steel'd by war, has oft defy'd
...
If thou couldst know what 'tis to weep,
To weep unpitied and alone,
The live-long night, whilst others sleep,
Silent and mournful watch to keep,
...
Yes, I adore thee, William Lamb,
But hate to hear thee say God d--:
Frenchmen, say English cry d-- d--
But why swear'st thou?-thou art a
...
Waters of Elle! thy limpid streams are flowing,
smooth and untroubled, through the flow'ry vale:
...
Weep for what thou'st lost, love-
Weep for what thou'st done-
Weep for what thou did'st not do,
...
The Lady Caroline Lamb (13 November 1785 – 26 January 1828) was a British aristocrat and novelist, best known for her 1812 affair with Lord Byron. Her husband was the 2nd Viscount Melbourne, the Prime Minister, however, she was never the Viscountess Melbourne because she died before he succeeded to the peerage; hence, she is known to history as Lady Caroline Lamb. She was the only daughter of the 3rd Earl of Bessborough and Henrietta, Countess of Bessborough. Her social credentials also included being niece of Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire, and cousin (by marriage) of Annabella, Lady Byron. Lamb's most famous work is Glenarvon, a Gothic novel that was released in 1816 just weeks after Byron's departure from England. Although published anonymously, Lamb's authorship was an open secret. It featured a thinly disguised pen-picture of herself and her former lover, who was painted as a war hero who turns traitor against the cause of Ireland. The book was notable for featuring the first version of the Byronic hero outside of Byron's own work as well as a detailed scrutiny of the Romantic Period and, more specifically, the Ton.Lamb included scathing caricatures of several members of those prominent society members.[8] One of them, Lady Jersey, canceled Lamb's vouchers to Almack's in retribution for the Lamb's characterizations. This was the opening salvo in a backlash that found Lamb blackballed from fashionable society. Byron responded to the novel; "I read Glenarvon too by Caro Lamb….God damn!" The book was a financial success that sold out several editions but was dismissed by critics as pulp fiction. However, later scholars like the philosopher Goethe deemed it worthy of serious literary consideration. In 1819, Lamb put her ability to mimic Byron to use in the narrative poem "A New Canto." Years before, Lamb had impersonated Byron in a letter to his publishers in order to have them send her a portrait of Byron. It worked; the tone and substance of her request fooled them into sending the painting.[8] She used that skill to respond to Byron's "Don Juan I and II". Lamb was most concerned with those allusions Byron had made about her; for example, the line "Some play the devil—and then write a novel” from "Don Juan II". In "A New Canto", Lamb wrote - as Byron - "I’m sick of fame; I’m gorged with it; so full I almost could regret the happier hour; When northern oracles proclaimed me dull." Byron never publicly responded to the poem. A reviewer of the time opined, in part; "The writer of this lively nonsense has evidently intended it as an imitation of Lord Byron. It is a rhapsody from beginning to end." Lamb published three additional novels during her lifetime: Graham Hamilton (1822), Ada Reis (1823), and Penruddock (1823).)
My Heart's Fit To Break
My heart's fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye,
As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by;
The moon shines so fair, it reminds me of thee,
But the clouds that obscure it are emblems of me.
They will pass like the dreams of our pleasures and youth,
They will pass like the promise of honor and truth,
And bright thou shalt shine when these shadows are gone,
All radiant, serene, unobscur'd-but alone.