Rhode Island American, Statesman And Providence Gazette

I SPEAK NOT, TRACE NOT.
[RECOVERED FRAGMENT OF LORD BYRON.]
I speak not—I trace not—I breathe not thy name,
There is grief in the sound—there were guilt in the fame,
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thought that dwells in the silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Where those hours can their joys or their bitterness cease—
We repent—we abjure—we will break from our chain,
We must part—we must fly—unite it again.
Oh! thine be the gladness, mine be the guilt,
Forgive me adored one—forsake if thou wilt,
But the heart which I bear shall expire unabased,
And man shall not break it—whatever thou mayest.
And stern to the haughty—but humble to thee,
My soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift—and our moments more sweet
With thee by my side—than the world at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow—one look of thy love
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
And the heartless may wonder at all we resign,
Thy lip shall reply not to them—but to mine.