by Noha Haggag on Wednesday, 11 November 2009 at 19:52 ·
by Noha Haggag on Wednesday, 11 November 2009 at 19:52 ·
Lord Byron married Annabella Milbanke, on January 2, 1815. One year later, and after having a child on December 15, 1815, they were separated. In March of 1816, Byron composed the poem " Fare Thee Well " and in an enclosed note, he wrote . . .
" Dearest Bell --- I send you the first verses that ever I attempted to write upon you, and perhaps the last that I may ever write at all. "
Then in April, two days before leaving England for the last time, he signed the Deed of Separation and added the following notation . . .
A year ago, you swore, fond she !
" To love, to honour, " and so forth:
Such was the vow you pledged to me,
And here's exactly what 'tis worth.
Byron never saw his wife or daughter again. He died 8 years later in April, 1824.
NOTE: Fare Thee Well has also been published in sheet music form.
***
P.S. this is dedicated to all English dept. graduates, Alexandria University... for us to remember good old days ... how i miss being a literature student
NOW....
here is the poem:
Fare thee well ! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show !
Then thou wouldst at last discover
'T was not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend thee ---
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe:
Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound ?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
Still thine own its life retaineth,
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is --- that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say " Father ! "
Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is press'd,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had bless'd !
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither, yet with thee they go.
But 't is done --- all words are idle ---
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well ! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die.
***
" Dearest Bell --- I send you the first verses that ever I attempted to write upon you, and perhaps the last that I may ever write at all. "
Then in April, two days before leaving England for the last time, he signed the Deed of Separation and added the following notation . . .
A year ago, you swore, fond she !
" To love, to honour, " and so forth:
Such was the vow you pledged to me,
And here's exactly what 'tis worth.
Byron never saw his wife or daughter again. He died 8 years later in April, 1824.
NOTE: Fare Thee Well has also been published in sheet music form.
***
P.S. this is dedicated to all English dept. graduates, Alexandria University... for us to remember good old days ... how i miss being a literature student
NOW....
here is the poem:
Fare thee well ! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show !
Then thou wouldst at last discover
'T was not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend thee ---
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe:
Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound ?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
Still thine own its life retaineth,
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is --- that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say " Father ! "
Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is press'd,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had bless'd !
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither, yet with thee they go.
But 't is done --- all words are idle ---
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well ! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die.
***
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