Kad rastasmo se tada

Kad rastasmo se tada
uz muk i suza breme,
a bol nam srca savlada,
na vrlo dugo vreme,
bled, hladan, obraz ti posta,
ko led sam celov tvoj;
a meni tek tuga osta
kroz ceo život moj.
Tog jutra rosu ledenu
sred svog osetih čela
ko hladnu strepnju jednu
što obuze me cela.
Ti skrši zavete svoje;
sad mnogom pripadaš, znam;
kad ime spomenu tvoje
i mene samog je sram.
O tebi priča svud bruji,
za me posmrtno zvono;
kroz srce jeza mi struji:
što te ljubvljaše ono?
Ti nikome od tih ljudi
ne beše tako znana;
bol osta sred mojih grudi
i večno živa rana.
Mi sastasmo se tajno;
sad tajno pamtim, smerno,
što srce ti nehajno
već presta biti verno.
A sretnem li te kada
kroz mnoga leta duga,
moj pozdrav biće tada
sav pusta, nema, tuga.

Redovi napisani na jednom
peharu načinjenom od lobanje

Ne boj se - i znaj da je moj duh još uvek sa mnom;
Jedina lobanja ja sam iz koje - mada se pije, -
Nasuprot glavama živim u ovom svetu tamnom,
Ma šta isteklo, ništa nikada glupo nije.
I ja sam živeo kao i ti; i voleo i pio,
I umro: nek se zemlja odriče kostiju mojih;
Ti toči; mene nećeš okružiti, ma htio;
Usne su crva uvek odvratnije od tvojih!
Jer bolje je u sebi nositi sokove skupe
No blatnom gojiti crvu naraštaj glibav i sluzav;
Bolje je nuditi redom uzevši oblike klupe
To piće bogova, nego hranu za porod puzav.
Tu, gde se nekad, možda, moj duh pun snage sjao,
Kroz druge opet moja nek blesne sadržina;
Kad je već iz glava naš mozak izčezao,
Kakvu bi mogli naći zamenu bolju od vina?
Dok možeš, pij, jer ko zna? - Možda će buduće pleme
Kad ti, i tvoji kao ja budete mrtvo ime,
I tebe spasti jednom iz krila zemlje neme,
I s mrtvim stihove plešće i pirovaće s njime.
Što ne? kad naše glave u kratkom danu života
Toliko malo mogu koristi da nam pruže,
Pošto ih poprave crvi, i blatna spremi toplota,
Za njih je sreća ako bar tako nečemu služe.

Stihovi napisani u jedan album na Malti

Ko putnika što mami novog
Ime na hladnoj grobnoj ploči,
Nek moje ime s lista ovog
Privuče tako tvoje oči.
I kad ti opet pogled sleti
Kroz mnogo leta na to ime,
Ko umrlog se mene seti,
I znaj, tu srce leci s njime.

Iz ''Jevrejskih melodija''
Po oblalama Jordana

Po obalama Jordana kamile Araba blude,
Na bregu Siona žreci lažnoga boga služe.
Pod stenam' Sinaja Vaalove sluge hude
Ti gledaš, o, Jehova, kako ti ime ruže,
Pa zašto spavaju gromovi večne slave tvoje?
Tamo gde je prst tvoj ispisao tablice svete
I stopa osveštala pute narodu dobrom tvome;
Tamo gde su slave plamene siluete
Pisane munjom tvojom, nijednom samrtnome
Nije moguće prići po cenu života svoga.
Nek' oko tvoje blesne munjinim silnim sjajem
I nek' padne koplje iz poraženih ruku tiranina
O, da l' će dugo tiran puniti zemlju vajem
I da li će narod jošte gledati mnogo dana
Ostavljen od teb' hram naš tužan, napušteni?

Šijonskom sužnju

Ti večni duše uma nesalomiva,
u tamnici sjaš, Slobodo, snagom svom,
jer u njoj tebi samo je srce dom;
tek ljubav za te to srce okiva.
Kad u lancima decu tvoju skriva
pod svodovima tmurna, vlažna, tama,
tad zemlja kliče njihovim žrtvama,
i glas Slobode svetom se odziva.
Tvoj je, Šijone, zatvor mesto sveto,
jer on, ko mošti, stope sužnja krije:
po podu tvome Bonivar se kreto
dok ko u travu trag usnio nije;
nek niko trag taj ne zbriše: on, eto
do Boga vapi protiv tiranije.

Da, mi nećemo lutati više

Da, mi nećemo lutati više
u kasnoj noći ti i ja,
i zalud srce ljubavlju diše
i mesečina još uvek sja.
Jer duša kreće već iz grudi
uz mač što hrli sad u boj;
za predahom mi srce žudi,
i ljubav traži kraj već svoj.
I zalud noć sva voljenjem diše
i zalud njoj će uskoro kraj,
nas dvoje neće lutati više
uz mesečine blistav sjaj.

SUNCE SVIH BEZ SNA
O tužna zvijezdo, sunce svih bez sna!
Što iz daljina suzna treptiš sva,
Što u noc sjaš al' ne goniš tim mrak,
O kakve davne srece ti si znak!
Tako sja prošlost, svjetlost sveg' što minu,
Što blistava je, al' nema toplinu;
Zuri u tami Bol u sjaj tvoj blijed,
Jasan, al' dalek - cist, al' kao led!

MRACAN MI DUH JE
Mracan mi duh je - o, brzo strune
Harfe dotakni da cujem njih;
Nek blagi zvuci uši mi pune
Uz prsta tvojih dodir tih.
Ako još nada puni grud meni,
Taj zvuk ce je izmamit znat,
Ako još suza ima u zjeni,
Poteci ce, i bol ce stat.
Nek trzaj bude dubok i snažan,
Nek vedra nota ne bude prva;
Minstrele, cuj me, plac mi je važan
Prije neg' bol mi srce shrva,
Jer tuga je odnjihala njega
I duga, nijema bol i nesan,
Sad spoznat najgore od svega
Mora, i puknut - il' rodit pjesan.

JEDNOJ GOSPI
upitan zbog cega napuštam Englesku u proljet
Kad Covjek, istjeran iz Raja,
Za casak zasta pokraj vrata,
Svaki ga prizor bivšeg sjaja
Nagna klet' kob što mu je data.
Al' iduc kroz daleke kraje,
Nauci snosit grijeh svoj prijek;
Tad drugo vrijeme cu mu vaje,
U radu svome nade lijek.
Tako ce, gospo, sa mnom biti,
Ne smijem vidjet car vaš, jao:
Dok krzman, uz vas, necu kriti,
Uzdišem zbog sveg' što sam znao.
Mudriji bit ce bijeg moj taj
Od napasti što vreba samo;
Ne mogu gledat u svoj raj
Bez želje da ne živim tamo.

GLE, IDE LIJEPA KAO NOC
Gle, ide lijepa kao noc kraja
Zvjezdanog neba, vedrih klima,
Sve najljepše od mraka i sjaja
U liku svom i oku ima,
Umekšanom svijetlom raja,
Što od neba ga dan ne prima.
Tek sjena jaca, manja zraka-
I slabi slast neiskazana
U valu njenih uvojaka,
Il' blaga svjetlost, licu dana,
Gdje kaže slatka misao svaka
Svu draž, cistocu svoga stana.
S tog obraza i cela nježna
-Što tiho je, a rijec ne gubi-
Smiješci zbore i boja nježna,
Da njenu prošlost blagost rubi,
Da ne zna duh njen zemnih cežnja,
A srce njeno cisto ljubi.

ATENSKA DJEVO, PRIJE NEG SATI
Živote moj, volim te
Atenska djevo, prije neg sati
Rastanka dodu, srce mi vrati,
Ili ga, jer mi ode iz grudi,
Zadrži, i sve što ti nudi!
Odlazim, cuj moj uzdah i bo,
Živote moj, volim te
Tako mi tvoje nemirne kose
Što egejski je vjetrovi nose,
I obrva što crne rube
Nježno ti lice te ga Ijube,
I zjena kao u srne, o,
Živote moj, volim te
Tako mi usni tih koje žudim
I struka tvoga za kojim ludim,
I ovog cvijeca što o sreci
I Ijubavi zna rec' što reci
Rijec ne zna; bilo dobro, zlo,
Živote moj, volim te
Atenska djevo, valja se nama
Rastati, misli na mene, sama.
Prem' Istambul me zove tog trena,
Srce mi, dušu uze Atena;
Uvijek cu tebe voljet! Znaj to!
Živote moj, volim te

And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair, first published in 1812

And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I lov'd, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away,
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.

My Soul is Dark

                    My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string
                        The harp I yet can brook to hear;
                    And let thy gentle fingers fling
                        Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
                    If in this heart a hope be dear,
                        That sound shall charm it forth again:
                    If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
                        'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
                    But bid the strain be wild and deep,
                        Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
                    I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
                        Or else this heavy heart will burst;
                    For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
                        And ached in sleepless silence, long;
                    And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
                        And break at once - or yield to song.

MANFRED (EXCERPT: INCANTATION), published 1816
             
               When the moon is on the wave,
               And the glow-worm in the grass,
               And the meteor on the grave,
               And the wisp on the morass;
               When the falling stars are shooting,
               And the answer'd owls are hooting,
               And the silent leaves are still
               In the shadow of the hill,
               Shall my soul be upon thine,
               With a power and with a sign.
               Though thy slumber may be deep,
               Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
               There are shades which will not vanish,
               There are thoughts thou canst not banish;
               By a power to thee unknown,
               Thou canst never be alone;
               Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
               Thou art gather'd in a cloud;
               And for ever shalt thou dwell
               In the spirit of this spell.
               Though thou seest me not pass by,
               Thou shalt feel me with thine eye
               As a thing that, though unseen,
               Must be near thee, and hath been;
               And when in that secret dread
               Thou hast turn'd around thy head,
               Thou shalt marvel I am not
               As thy shadow on the spot,
               And the power which thou dost feel
               Shall be what thou must conceal.
               And a magic voice and verse
               Hath baptiz'd thee with a curse;
               And a spirit of the air
               Hath begirt thee with a snare;
               In the wind there is a voice
               Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
               And to thee shall night deny
               All the quiet of her sky;
               And the day shall have a sun,
               Which shall make thee wish it done.
               From thy false tears I did distil
               An essence which hath strength to kill;
               From thy own heart I then did wring
               The black blood in its blackest spring;
               From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake,
               For there it coil'd as in a brake;
               From thy own lip I drew the charm
               Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
               In proving every poison known,
               I found the strongest was thine own.
               By thy cold breast and serpent smile,
               By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile,
               By that most seeming virtuous eye,
               By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;
               By the perfection of thine art
               Which pass'd for human thine own heart;
               By thy delight in others' pain,
               And by thy brotherhood of Cain,
               I call upon thee! and compel
               Thyself to be thy proper Hell!
               And on thy head I pour the vial
               Which doth devote thee to this trial;
               Nor to slumber, nor to die,
               Shall be in thy destiny;
               Though thy death shall still seem near
               To thy wish, but as a fear;
               Lo! the spell now works around thee,
               And the clankless chain hath bound thee;
               O'er thy heart and brain together
               Hath the word been pass'd--now wither!

Atenska djevo, prije neg sati


Živote moj, volim te

Atenska djevo, prije neg sati
Rastanka dođu, srce mi vrati,
Ili ga, jer mi ode iz grudi,
Zadrži, i sve što ti nudi!
Odlazim, čuj moj uzdah i bo,

Živote moj, volim te

Tako mi tvoje nemirne kose
Što egejski je vjetrovi nose,
I obrva što crne rube
Nježno ti lice te ga Ijube,
I zjena kao u srne, o,

Živote moj, volim te

Tako mi usni tih koje žudim
I struka tvoga za kojim ludim,
I ovog cvijeća što o sreći
I Ijubavi zna reć' što reći
Riječ ne zna; bilo dobro, zlo,

Živote moj, volim te

Atenska djevo, valja se nama
Rastati, misli na mene, sama.
Prem' Istambul me zove tog trena,
Srce mi, dušu uze Atena;
Uvijek ću tebe voljet! Znaj to!

Živote moj, volim te

Strofe
napisane prigodom prelaženja Ambracijskog zaljeva


S vedroga neba u svom srebru snatre
Mjeseca zrake, na Actium skriven,
Na valove gdje radi Kleopatre
Izgubljen stari svijet bje i dobiven.

Na taj mi prizor oko pogled baci,
Rimljana mnogih groblje, gdje u trenu
Jednome kruta Ambicija zbaci
Krunu, da mogla slijediti bi ženu.

Florence, što volim jednako te, glasi
Pjesme dok traju i svih riječi sklad
(Orfej iz pakla pjesmom ženu spasi),
Dok budeš lijepa i dok budem mlad;

O slatka! to bje vrijeme slično snima,
Kad svijet na kocki bje zbog zjene dvije:
Da pjesnik ima carstava ko rima,
Tvoj čar bi nove dao Antonije.

Premda to mrsko Usudu je strogu,
Zjena mi tvojih, u njih ću se klet,
Svijet zbog tebe izgubiti ne mogu,
Al' te izgubit ne bih za sav svijet.

The Tear

I
WHEN Friendship or Love,
Our sympathies move,
When Truth in a glance should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a tear.
 

II
Too oft is a smile,
But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear,
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soul telling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a tear.
 

III
Mild charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear,
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a tear.
 

IV
The man doom'd to sail,
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave,
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a tear.
 

V
The soldier braves death,
For a fanciful wreath,
In Glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe,
When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a tear.
 

VI
When with high bounding pride,
He returns to his bride,
Renouncing the gore crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid,
When embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the tear.


VII
Sweet scene of my youth,
Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chac'd each fast-fleeting year,
Loth to leave thee I mourn'd,
For a last look I turn'd,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a tear.
 

VIII
Though my vows I can pour,
To my Mary no more,
My Mary to love once so dear,
In the shade of her bower,
I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a tear.
 

IX
By another possest,
May she live ever blest,
Her name still my heart must revere,
With a sigh I resign,
What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a tear.
 

X
Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near,
If again we shall meet,
In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a tear.
 

XI
When my soul wings her flight,
To the regions of night,
And my body shall sleep on its bier;
As ye pass by the tomb,
Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a tear.
 

XII
May no marble bestow,
The splendour of woe,
Which the children of Vanity rear,
No fiction of fame,
Shall blazon my name,
all I ask, all I wish, is a tear.