Richmond Enquirer

We select the following from one of our Liverpool papers.

The poem entire will be published in Philadelphia in a few days.

[Del. Gaz.

EXTRACTS

FROM

Lord Byron's "Farewell to England."

"Oh! land of my fathers, and mine!

The noblest, the best, and the bravest—

Heart-broken and lone, I resign

The joys and the hopes which thou gavest.

Dear mother of Freedom! farewell!

Even Freedom is irksome to me—

Be calm, throbbing heart, nor rebel—

For reason approves the decree.

Did I love?—Be my witness, high Heaven!

That marked all my frailties and fears—

I adored—but the magic is riven—

He the memory expunged by my tears!

The moment of rapture how bright,

How dazzling—how transient its glare—

A comet in splendor and flight,

The herald of darkness and care.

Recollections of tenderness gone,

Of pleasure no more to return—

A wanderer—an outcast—alone,

Oh! leave me, untortured, to mourn

Where—where shall my heart find repose:

A refuge from memory and grief;

The pilgrim, wherever he goes,

Dissuades fictitious relief.

Could I trace out that fabulous stream,

Which washes remembrance away—

Again might the eye of hope gleam

The dawn of a happier day.

Hath wine an oblivious power?

Can it pluck out the sting from the brain?

The draught may beguile for an hour—

But still leaves behind it the pain.

Can distance or time heal the heart

That bleeds from its innermost core?

Or intemperance lessen its smart?

Or cauterize apply to its sore?

If I rush to the ultimate pole,

The form I adore will be there—

A phantom to torture my soul,

And mock at my bootless despair.

The zephyr of eve, as it flies,

Will whisper her voice in mine ear,

And moist with her sorrows and sighs,

Demand for love's altar a tear.

And still in the dreams of the day,

And still in the visions of night,

Will fancy her beauties display—

Disordering—deceiving—the sight."

p. 1-4.

"'Tis past!—the great struggle is o'er!

The war of my bosom subdues!

And passion's strong current no more

Impetuous impels to its tides.

'Tis past! my affections give way,

The ties of my nature are broke—

The summons of pride I obey,

And break love's degenerate yoke.

I fly, like a bird of the air,

In search of a home and a rest;

A balm for the sickness of care,

A bliss for a bosom unblest.

And swift as the swallow that floats,

And bold as the eagle that soars—

Yet dull as the owlet, whose notes

The dark fiend of midnight deplores!

Where gleam the gay splendors of East,

The dance and the beautiful bourn,

I'll bear me to Luxury's feast,

To exile the form I adored.

In full-brimming goblets, I'll quaff

The sweets of the Lethean Spring—

And join in the Bacchanal's laugh,

And join in the fairy-formed ring!

Where pleasure invites will I roam,

To drown the dull memory of care—

An exile from hope and from home,

A fugitive chased by despair.

Farewell to the land of the brave!

Farewell to thee, land of my birth!

When tempests around thee shall rave,

Still—still—may they honor thy worth!

Wife—Infant—and country—and friend,

Ye wizard my fancy no more—

I fly from your solace, and wend,

To weep on some kindlier shore.

The grim-visaged fiend of the storm

That raves in this agonized breast;

Still raises his pestilent form—

Till death calm the tumult to rest."

p. 13-16.