Solyman Brown (1790–1876)

FARE thee well, inconstant lover!

If thy fickle flame was love;—

Though our transient joys are over,

I can ne’er inconstant prove.

Man may boast a deathless passion,

Swear his love shall ne’er decline;

Yet, unfix’d as changing fashion,

Woman’s fate may change like mine!

Once I thought I might believe thee;

Might on Byron’s oath rely;

But my arms do scarce receive thee

Ere thy oaths, unheeded, die.

From paternal arms you took me,

Stole me from a mother’s care;

Then in wantonness forsook me

For a less admiring fair.

Prayers and tears were unavailing,

Nought thy purpose could beguile;

Not a wife, her woes bewailing,

Nor a lovely infant’s smile.

Heaven had form’d thee for unkindness,

Steel’d thy soul to all that ’s mild;

Dimm’d thy moral sight with blindness,

Left thee Nature’s wayward child.

Stay! I must not—cannot chide thee;

What thou hast not, who can blame?

Virtue is what heaven denied thee,

And the world has done the same.

Think not I can e’er forget thee;

No, thy griefs will all be mine;

I shall weep when foes beset thee,

Smile when fortune’s sun shall shine.

Must I—can I—shall a mother

Hate the father of her child?

Gracious Heaven! my anguish smother,—

At that name, my infant smiled!

Smiled to think she had a father

To protect her growing years;—

Unsuspecting orphan, rather

Drown thine eye in floods of tears!

Father, now, sweet babe, thou hast not;

All his care you must forego;

Other woes thy peace may blast not,

Yet thou hast this keenest wo!

Orphan babe! my care shall ever

Guard thee from the ills of life;

Death alone hath power to sever

Byron’s babe and constant wife!

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