No More Learning

Mark--which stands hard by
With fretted pinnacles on high,
And Cupola and minaret;
More like the mosque of orient lands,
Than the fanes wherein we pray,
And Mary's blessed likeness stands. --

Venice, _December_ 6, 1816.




SO WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING. [578]

1.

So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

2.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And Love itself have rest.

3.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.

_Feb_. 28, 1817.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 79. ]




[LORD BYRON'S VERSES ON SAM ROGERS. ][579]


QUESTION.
Nose and Chin that make a knocker,[hx]
Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker;
Mouth that marks the envious Scorner,
With a Scorpion in each corner
Curling up his tail to sting you,[hy]
In the place that most may wring you;
Eyes of lead-like hue and gummy,
Carcase stolen from some mummy,
Bowels--(but they were forgotten,
Save the Liver, and that's rotten), 10
Skin all sallow, flesh all sodden,
Form the Devil would frighten G--d in.
Is't a Corpse stuck up for show,[580]
Galvanized at times to go?
With the Scripture has't connection,[hz]
New proof of the Resurrection?
Vampire, Ghost, or Goul (_sic_), what is it?
I would walk ten miles to miss it.



ANSWER.

Many passengers arrest one,
To demand the same free question. 20
Shorter's my reply and franker,--
That's the Bard, and Beau, and Banker:
Yet, if you could bring about
Just to turn him inside out,
Satan's self would seem less sooty,
And his present aspect--Beauty.
Mark that (as he masks the bilious)
Air so softly supercilious,
Chastened bow, and mock humility,
Almost sickened to Servility: 30
Hear his tone (which is to talking
That which creeping is to walking--
Now on all fours, now on tiptoe):
Hear the tales he lends his lip to--
Little hints of heavy scandals--
Every friend by turns he handles:
All that women or that men do
Glides forth in an inuendo (_sic_)--
Clothed in odds and ends of humour,
Herald of each paltry rumour-- 40
From divorces down to dresses,
Woman's frailties, Man's excesses:
All that life presents of evil
Make for him a constant revel.
You're his foe--for that he fears you,
And in absence blasts and sears you:
You're his friend--for that he hates you,
First obliges, and then baits you,
Darting on the opportunity
When to do it with impunity: 50
You are neither--then he'll flatter,
Till he finds some trait for satire;
Hunts your weak point out, then shows it,
Where it injures, to expose it
In the mode that's most insidious,
Adding every trait that's hideous--
From the bile, whose blackening river
Rushes through his Stygian liver.

Then he thinks himself a lover--[581]
Why? I really can't discover, 60
In his mind, age, face, or figure;
Viper broth might give him vigour:
Let him keep the cauldron steady,
He the venom has already.

For his faults--he has but _one_;
'Tis but Envy, when all's done:
He but pays the pain he suffers,
Clipping, like a pair of Snuffers,
Light that ought to burn the brighter
For this temporary blighter. 70
He's the Cancer of his Species,
And will eat himself to pieces,--
Plague personified and Famine,--
Devil, whose delight is damning. [582]
For his merits--don't you know 'em? [ia]
Once he wrote a pretty Poem.