soul from long seclusion pure;
From what even here hath passed, may guess
What there thy bosom must endure.

11.

Oh! pardon that imploring tear,
Since not by Virtue shed in vain,
My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;
For me they shall not weep again.

12.

Though long and mournful must it be,
The thought that we no more may meet;
Yet I deserve the stern decree,
And almost deem the sentence sweet.

13.

Still--had I loved thee less--my heart
Had then less sacrificed to thine;
It felt not half so much to part
As if its guilt had made thee mine.

1813.
[MS. M. First published, _Childe Harold_, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]

IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.[52]

When, from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My Thoughts their dungeon know too well;
Back to my breast the Wanderers shrink,
And _droop_ within their silent cell.[ce]

_September_, 1813.
[MS. M. first published, _Childe Harold_, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]

SONNET.

TO GENEVRA.

Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
And the warm lustre of thy features--caught
From contemplation--where serenely wrought,
Seems Sorrow's softness charmed from its despair--
Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,
That--but I know thy blessed bosom fraught
With mines of unalloyed and stainless thought--
I should have deemed thee doomed to earthly care.
With such an aspect, by his colours blent,
When from his beauty-breathing pencil born,
(Except that _thou_ hast nothing to repent)
The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn--
Such seem'st thou--but how much more excellent!
With nought Remorse can claim--nor Virtue scorn.

_December_ 17, 1813.[53]
[MS. M. First published, _Corsair_, 1814 (Second Edition).]

SONNET.

TO GENEVRA.

Thy cheek is pale wit