CLXXXV.
My task is done—my song hath ceased—my theme
Has died into an echo; it is fit[qk]
The spell should break of this protracted dream.
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit
My midnight lamp—and what is writ, is writ,—
Would it were worthier! but I am not now
That which I have been—and my visions flit
Less palpably before me—and the glow
Which in my Spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.
CLXXXVI.
Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been—
A sound which makes us linger;—yet—farewell![ql]
Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene[qm]
Which is his last—if in your memories dwell
A thought which once was his—if on ye swell
A single recollection—not in vain
He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell;
Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain,
If such there were—with you, the Moral of his Strain.[554]
FOOTNOTES
[363] [{319}] MS. D., Byron's final fair copy, is in the possession of the Lady Dorchester.
[364] [{321}] [Compare Canto IV. stanza clxiv.—
"But where is he, the Pilgrim of my Song....
He is no more—these breathings are his last.">[
[365] [{322}] [His marriage. Compare the epigram, "On my Wedding-Day," sent in a letter to Moore, January 2, 1820—
"Here's a happy new year!—but with reason
I beg you'll permit me to say—
Wish me many returns of the season,
But as few as you please of the day.">[