e lies," quoted in _Life, Writings, Opinions,
etc_., 1825, iii. 414; (iv.) lines addressed to (?) George Anson Byron,
"And dost thou ask the reason of my sadness?" _Nicnac_, March 29, 1823;
(v.) _To Lady Caroline Lamb_, "And sayst thou that I have not felt,"
published in _Works, etc_., 1828; (vi.) lines _To her who can best
understand them_, "Be it so, we part for ever," published in the _Works
of Lord Byron, In Verse and Prose_, Hartford, 1847; (vii.) _Lines found
in the Travellers' Book at Chamouni_, "How many numbered are, how few
agreed!" published _Works, etc_., 1828; and (viii.) a second copy of
verses with the same title, "All hail, Mont Blanc! Mont-au-Vert, hail!"
_Life, Writings, etc_., 1825, ii. 384; (ix.) _Lines addressed by Lord
Byron to Mr. Hobhouse on his Election for Westminster_, "Would you get
to the house by the true gate?" _Works, etc_., 1828; and (x.) _Enigma on
the Letter I_, "I am not in youth, nor in manhood, nor age," _Works,
etc_., Paris, p. 720, together with sundry epigrams, must, failing the
production of the original MSS., be accounted forgeries, or, perhaps, in
one or two instances, of doubtful authenticity.

The following poems: _On the Quotation_, "_And my true faith_" etc.;
[_Love and Gold_]; _Julian_ [_a Fragment_]; and _On the Death of the
Duke of Dorset_, are now published for the first time from MSS. in the
possession of Mr. John Murray.

POEMS 1809-1813.

THE GIRL OF CADIZ.[1]

1.

Oh never talk again to me
Of northern climes and British ladies;
It has not been your lot to see,[a]
Like me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz.
Although her eye be not of blue,
Nor fair her locks, like English lasses,
How far its own expressive hue
The languid azure eye surpasses!

2.

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole
The fire that through those silken lashes
In darkest glances seems to roll,
From eyes that cannot hide their flashes:
And as along her bosom steal
In lengthened flow her raven tresses,
You'd swear each clustering lock could feel,
And curled to give her neck caresses.

3.

Our English maids are long to woo,[b][2]
And frigid even in possession;
And if their charms be fair to view,
Their lips are slow at Love's confession;
But, born beneath a brighter sun,