Selected Poems

by Byron

  ’Tis my command, my last command. Wilt thou

  Oppose it? thou!

  PANIA: But yet – not yet.

  SARDANAPALUS:Well, then,

  Swear that you will obey when I shall give

  The signal.

  PANIA:With a heavy but true heart,

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  I promise.

  SARDANAPALUS: ’Tis enough. Now order here

  Faggots, pine-nuts, and wither’d leaves, and such

  Things as catch fire and blaze with one sole spark;

  Bring cedar, too, and precious drugs, and spices,

  And mighty planks, to nourish a tall pile;

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  Bring frankincense and myrrh, too, for it is

  For a great sacrifice I build the pyre;

  And heap them round yon throne.

  PANIA:My lord!

  SARDANAPALUS:I have said it,

  And you have sworn.

  PANIA:And could keep my faith

  Without a vow.

  [Exit PANIA.]

  MYRRHA:What mean you?

  SARDANAPALUS:You shall know

  285

  Anon – what the whole earth shall ne’er forget.

  [PANIA, returning with a HERALD.]

  PANIA: My king, in going forth upon my duty,

  This herald has been brought before me, craving

  An audience.

  SARDANAPALUS: Let him speak.

  HERALD:The King Arbaces —

  SARDANAPALUS: What, crown’d already? – But,

  proceed.

  HERALD:Beleses,

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  The anointed high-priest —

  SARDANAPALUS:Of what god or demon?

  With new kings rise new altars. But, proceed;

  You are sent to prate your master’s will, and not

  Reply to mine.

  HERALD:And Satrap Ofratanes —

  SARDANAPALUS: Why, he is ours.

  HERALD [showing a ring]:Be sure that he is now

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  In the camp of the conquerors; behold His signet ring.

  SARDANAPALUS: ’Tis his. A worthy triad!

  Poor Salemenes! thou hast died in time

  To see one treachery the less: this man

  Was thy true friend and my most trusted subject.

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  Proceed.

  HERALD: They offer thee thy life, and freedom

  Of choice to single out a residence

  In any of the further provinces,

  Guarded and watch’d, but not confined in person,

  Where thou shalt pass thy days in peace; but on

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  Condition that the three young princes are

  Given up as hostages.

  SARDANAPALUS [ironically]: The generous victors!

  HERALD: I wait the answer.

  SARDANAPALUS:Answer, slave! How long

  Have slaves decided on the doom of kings?

  HERALD: Since they were free.

  SARDANAPALUS:Mouthpiece of mutiny!

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  Thou at the least shalt learn the penalty

  Of treason, though its proxy only. Pania!

  Let his head be thrown from our walls within

  The rebels’ lines, his carcass down the river.

  Away with him!

  [PANIA and the Guards seizing him.]

  PANIA: I never yet obey’d

  315

  Your orders with more pleasure than the present.

  Hence with him, soldiers! do not soil this hall

  Of royalty with treasonable gore;

  Put him to rest without.

  HERALD:A single word:

  My office, king, is sacred.

  SARDANAPALUS:And what’s mine?

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  That thou shouldst come and dare to ask of me

  To lay it down?

  HERALD:I but obey’d my orders,

  At the same peril if refused, as now

  Incurr’d by my obedience.

  SARDANAPALUS:So there are

  New monarchs of an hour’s growth as despotic

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  As sovereigns swathed in purple, and enthroned

  From birth to manhood!

  HERALD:My life waits your breath.

  Yours (I speak humbly) — but it may be – yours

  May also be in danger scarce less imminent:

  Would it then suit the last hours of a line

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  Such as is that of Nimrod, to destroy

  A peaceful herald, unarm’d, in his office;

  And violate not only all that man

  Holds sacred between man and man – but that

  More holy tie which links us with the gods?

  335

  SARDANAPALUS: He’s right. – Let him go free. – My life’s

  last act

  Shall not be one of wrath. Here, fellow, take

  [Gives him a golden cup from a table near.]

  This golden goblet, let it hold your wine,

  And think of me; or melt it into ingots,

  And think of nothing but their weight and value.

  340

  HERALD: I thank you doubly for my life, and this

  Most gorgeous gift, which renders it more precious.

  But must I bear no answer?

  SARDANAPALUS:Yes, – I ask

  An hour’s truce to consider.

  HERALD:But an hour’s?

  SARDANAPALUS: An hour’s: if at the expiration of

  345

  That time your masters hear no further from me,

  They are to deem that I reject their terms,

  And act befittingly.

  HERALD:I shall not fail

  To be a faithful legate of your pleasure.

  SARDANAPALUS: And hark! a word more.

  HERALD:I shall not forget

  it,

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  Whate’er it be.

  SARDANAPALUS: Commend me to Beleses;

  And tell him, ere a year expire, I summon

  Him hence to meet me.

  HERALD:Where?

  SARDANAPALUS:At Babylon.

  At least from thence he will depart to meet me.

  HERALD: I shall obey you to the letter.

  [Exit HERALD.]

  SARDANAPALUS:Pania! –

  355

  Now, my good Pania! – quick – with what I order’d.

  PANIA: My lord, – the soldiers are already charged.

  And see! they enter.

  [Soldiers enter, and form a Pile about the Throne, &]

  SARDANAPALUS:Higher, my good soldiers,

  And thicker yet; and see that the foundation

  Be such as will not speedily exhaust

  340

  Its own too subtle flame; nor yet be quench’d

  With aught officious aid would bring to quell it.

  Let the throne form the core of it; I would not

  Leave that, save fraught with fire unquenchable,

  To the new comers. Frame the whole as if

  365

  ’Twere to enkindle the strong tower of our

  Inveterate enemies. Now it bears an aspect!

  How say you, Pania, will this pile suffice

  For a king’s obsequies?

  PANIA:Ay, for a kingdom’s.

  I understand you, now.

  SARDANAPALUS:And blame me?

  PANIA:No—

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  Let me but fire the pile, and share it with you.

  MYRRHA: That duty’s mine.

  PANIA:A woman’s!

  MYRRHA:’Tis the soldier’s

  Part to die for his sovereign, and why not

  The woman’s with her lover?

  PANIA:’Tis most strange!

  MYRRHA: But not so rare, my Pania, as thou think’st it.

  375

  In the mean time, live thou. – Farewell! the pile

  Is ready.

  PANIA: I should shame to leave my sovereign


  With but a single female to partake

  His death.

  SARDANAPALUS: Too many far have heralded

  Me to the dust, already. Get thee hence;

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  Enrich thee.

  PANIA:And live wretched!

  SARDANAPALUS:Think upon

  Thy vow: – ’tis sacred and irrevocable.

  PANIA: Since it is so, farewell.

  SARDANAPALUS:Search well my chamber,

  Feel no remorse at bearing off the gold;

  Remember, what you leave you leave the slaves

  385

  Who slew me: and when you have borne away

  All safe off to your boats, blow one long blast

  Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace.

  The river’s brink is too remote, its stream

  Too loud at present to permit the echo

  390

  To reach distinctly from its banks. Then fly, –

  And as you sail, turn back; but still keep on

  Your way along the Euphrates: if you reach

  The land of Paphlagonia, where the queen

  Is safe with my three sons in Cotta’s court,

  395

  Say, what you saw at parting, and request

  That she remember what I said at one

  Parting more mournful still.

  PANIA:That royal hand!

  Let me then once more press it to my lips;

  And these poor soldiers who throng round you, and

  400

  Would fain die with you!

  [ The Soldiers and PANIA throng round him, kissing his hand and the hem of his robe.]

  SARDANAPALUS:My best! my last friends!

  Let’s not unman each other: part at once:

  All farewells should be sudden, when for ever,

  Else they make an eternity of moments,

  And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.

  405

  Hence, and be happy: trust me, I am not

  Now to be pitied; or far more for what

  Is past than present; – for the future, ’tis

  In the hands of the deities, if such

  There be: I shall know soon. Farewell – Farewell.

  [Exeunt PANIA and Soldiers.]

  410

  MYRRHA: These men were honest: it is comfort still

  That our last looks should be on loving faces.

  SARDANAPALUS: And lovely ones, my beautiful! – but hear

  me!

  If at this moment, – for we now are on

  The brink, — thou feel’st an inward shrinking from

  415

  This leap through flame into the future, say it:

  I shall not love thee less; nay, perhaps more,

  For yielding to thy nature: and there’s time

  Yet for thee to escape hence.

  MYRRHA:Shall I light

  One of the torches which lie heap’d beneath

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  The ever-burning lamp that burns without,

  Before Baal’s shrine, in the adjoining hall?

  SARDANAPALUS: Do so. Is that thy answer?

  MYRRHA: Thou shalt see.

  [Exit MYRRHA.]

  SARDANAPALUS [solus]: She’s firm. My fathers! whom I

  will rejoin,

  It may be, purified by death from some

  425

  Of the gross stains of too material being,

  I would not leave your ancient first abode

  To the defilement of usurping bondmen;

  If I have not kept your inheritance

  As ye bequeath’d it, this bright part of it,

  430

  Your treasure, your abode, your sacred relics

  Of arms, and records, monuments, and spoils,

  In which they would have revell’d, I bear with me

  To you in that absorbing element,

  Which most personifies the soul as leaving

  435

  The least of matter unconsumed before

  Its fiery workings: — and the light of this

  Most royal of funereal pyres shall be

  Not a mere pillar form’d of cloud and flame,

  A beacon in the horizon for a day,

  440

  And then a mount of ashes, but a light

  To lesson ages, rebel nations, and

  Voluptuous princes. Time shall quench full many

  A people’s records, and a hero’s acts;

  Sweep empire after empire, like this first

  445

  Of empires, into nothing; but even then

  Shall spare this deed of mine, and hold it up

  A problem few dare imitate, and none

  Despise – but, it may be, avoid the life

  Which led to such a consummation.

  [MYRRHA returns with a lighted Torch in one Hand, and a Cup in the other.]

  MYRRHA:Lo!

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  I’ve lit the lamp which lights us to the stars.

  SARDANAPALUS: And the cup?

  MYRRHA:’Tis my country’s custom to

  Make a libation to the gods.

  SARDANAPALUS:And mine

  To make libations amongst men. I’ve not

  Forgot the custom; and although alone,

  Will drain one draught in memory of many

  A joyous banquet past.

  [SARDANAPALUS takes the cup, and after drinking and tinkling the reversed cup, as a drop falls, exclaims — ]

  And this libation

  Is for the excellent Beleses.

  MYRRHA:Why

  Dwells thy mind rather upon that man’s name

  Than on his mate’s in villany?

  SARDANAPALUS:The one

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  Is a mere soldier, a mere tool, a kind

  Of human sword in a friend’s hand; the other

  Is master-mover of his warlike puppet:

  But I dismiss them from my mind. – Yet pause,

  My Myrrha! dost thou truly follow me,

  465

  Freely and fearlessly?

  MYRRHA:And dost thou think

  A Greek girl dare not do for love, that which

  An Indian widow braves for custom?

  SARDANAPALUS:Then

  We but await the signal.

  MYRRHA:It is long

  In sounding.

  SARDANAPALUS: Now, farewell; one last embrace.

  470

  MYRRHA: Embrace, but not the last; there is one more.

  SARDANAPALUS: True, the commingling fire will mix our

  ashes.

  MYRRHA: And pure as is my love to thee, shall they,

  Purged from the dross of earth, and earthly passion,

  Mix pale with thine. A single thought yet irks me.

  475

  SARDANAPALUS: Say it.

  MYRRHA:It is that no kind hand will gather

  The dust of both into one urn.

  SARDANAPALUS:The better:

  Rather let them be borne abroad upon

  The winds of heaven, and scatter’d into air,

  Than be polluted more by human hands

  480

  Of slaves and traitors. In this blazing palace,

  And its enormous walls of reeking ruin,

  We leave a nobler monument than Egypt

  Hath piled in her brick mountains, o’er dead kings,

  Or kine, for none know whether those proud piles

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  Be for their monarch, or their ox-god Apis:

  So much for monuments that have forgotten

  Their very record!

  MYRRHA:Then farewell, thou earth!

  And loveliest spot of earth! farewell, Ionia!

  Be thou still free and beautiful, and far

  490

  Aloof from desolation! My last prayer

  Was for thee, my last thoughts, save one, were of thee!

  SARDANAPALUS: And that?

  MYRRHA:Is yours.

  [The trumpet of PANIA sounds with
out.]

  SARDANAPALUS:Hark!

  MYRRHA: Now!

  SARDANAPALUS:Adieu, Assyria!

  I loved thee well, my own, my fathers’ land,

  And better as my country than my kingdom.

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  I sated thee with peace and joys; and this

  Is my reward! and now I owe thee nothing,

  Not even a grave.

  [He mounts the pile.]

  Now, Myrrha!

  MYRRHA:Art thou ready?

  SARDANAPALUS: As the torch in thy grasp.

  [MYRRHA fires the pile.]

  MYRRHA:’Tis fired! I come.

  [As MYRRHA springs forward to throw herself into the flames, the Curtain falls.]

  Who kill’d John Keats?

  Are you aware that Shelley has written an Elegy on Keats, and accuses the Quarterly of killing him?

  ’Who kill’d John Keats?’

  ‘I,’ says the Quarterly,

  ‘So savage and Tartarly;

  ’Twas one of my feats.’

  5

  ‘Who shot the arrow?’

  ‘The poet-priest Milman

  (So ready to kill man),

  Or Southey or Barrow.’

  THE BLUES

  A Literary Eclogue

  ‘Nimium ne crede colorí.’ — VIRGIL.

  O trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue, Though your hair were as red, as your stockings are blue.

  Eclogue First

  London – Before the Door of a Lecture Room.

  [Enter TRACY, meeting INKEL.]

  INKEL: You’re too late.

  TRACY:Is it over?

  INKEL: Nor will be this hour. But the benches are cramm’d, like a garden in flower, With the pride of our belles, who have made it the fashion;

  So, instead of ‘beaux arts,’ we may say ‘la belle passion’

  5

  For learning, which lately has taken the lead in The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading.

  TRACY: I know it too well, and have worn out my patience With studying to study your new publications.

  There’s Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords and Co.

  10

  With their damnable –

  INKEL:Hold, my good friend, do you know Whom you speak to?

  TRACY:Right well, boy, and so does ‘the Row:’ You’re an author – a poet –

  INKEL: And think you that I Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry The Muses?

  TRACY: Excuse me: I meant no offence

  15

  To the Nine; though the number who make some pretence To their favours is such — but the subject to drop, I am just piping hot from a publisher’s shop, (Next door to the pastry-cook’s; so that when I Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy

  20

  On the bibliopole’s shelves, it is only two paces, As one finds every author in one of those places;) Where I just had been skimming a charming critique, So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek! Where your friend — you know who — has just got such a threshing,

  25

  That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely ‘refreshing.’ What a beautiful word!

  INKEL: Very true; ’tis so soft And so cooling – they use it a little too oft; And the papers have got it at last – but no matter. So they’ve cut up our friend then?