The weekly Panola star. [volume] (Panola, Miss.) 1857-1881, 1866-03-10
POETRY.
For the Panols sTAR
Lady Byron's Answer 10 Lord Dy.
ron's Celebrated "rarcwelL"

Mn. EDrToR;-Many persons sigh
Nor Lord Byron's unhappy fate, as
bcwailcd by himself, without know
hg that there Is another side to the
pd picture presented in his magnih-
6ent Farewell" For the benefit ol
nose who have given their sympa.
(hies to the husband, | send the ~Ve's
picture of the other side, as painted
h the excellent verses of Lady BY.
.ron's answer" which l find in an
old news journal, and Of which the
eble editor expresses his appreciation
b the following language;
ain the whole range Of English
terature, there is not, in our opinion,
1 production either in prose or verse,
bat combines within itself more ex-
PRESTON Of feeling, more out-spoken
nrnest sentiment, than Lady Byron:
eply to her faithless husband. By
pms Farewell" was an ironical bid.
ling adieu to heart that he had
Fantonly crushed. But Lady B. has
, defending herself from his irony
Fturned the tables" on him most
completely. Her reply is scathing
ond must have "cut" Byron "to the
onick." we call special attention tc
ne proud and noble defiance express
"a in the last verse. The poem ha,
doubtless been read by the most o
our readers, but it will repay another
Ierusal." KATE KENT.
Yes Acknowledgement foreveri
Thou thyself hast fixed our doom,
Bade hopes fairest blossoms wither,
Never again for me TO bloom
unforgiving thou hast called me
Didr thou ever say Jorgissf
N For the wretch whose wiles beguiled thee
Thou alone didst seem 10 live.
Short the space which time has given
To complete thy loves decay;
BY unhallowed passion driven,
Soon thy hear, was taught To stray.
Lived for me that feeling tender
Which thy verse 20 well can show,
From my arms why didst thou wander1
Ny endearmen,s why forego'
oh, too late thy breas, was barred,
Oh, too soon to me twas shown,
That thy love once but shared,
And already Il Is aown.
wrapt In dreams Of Joy abiding,
On thy hreas, my head hath lain,
10 Thy love and truth eonhding,
Bliss neer can know again.
That dark hour did frst discover
In thy soul the hideous stain
Would these eyes had closed forever
Never 10 weep thy crimes again.
But the imploas wish, o Heaven.
Prom thy records blo,tsd be;
. Yes, yet would live, o Byron,
For the babe I've borne for theei
In whose lovely features, (let me
All my weakness here eonfess,)
Whilst the struggling sean permit me
All the iA,hefs ! can trace
lie whose image never leaves me,
lie whose image ssill prize,
Who this hltterest feeling eises ne,
Sull 70 love vhsr despise.
With regret and sorrow rather,
When our ehlds FIRST sccsnss hov,
Twill teach her 70 say, Father,
But his guilt she neer shall know.
whist Tomorrow end tomorrow
Wakes me frum widowed bed,
On anothess arms, no sorrow
M wIlt thou feel, no tear wilt she'd
THE worlds approval sought not
When tore myself from ,hssi
or lie praise or biame thought not
What's its praise or blame 70 mel 4
He 20 prised--so loved--storsd.
From his heart mine image drove,
On my bead ooatemps has poured,
And prsfsfssd vansoas love
Thou art proud, but mark ne, Byron,
I've heart proud q thine osn,
soA 70 love, tas hard a. Iron
When conienps is osr Il thrown.
Bat ArsvslIl-fll not uphrsid thes,
Never, never wish thee m;
wvschsd tho Thy crimes have made me
n thoa eaHst Be happy ssill.