Two letters from “Echo” to Byron, 1812

 

Echo 1 - A Poem

To Lord Byron Who talks of loving in a voice so sweet?

Yet says his heart can never love again.

Who bids the heart with wildest throbbings beat?

Yet gives no balsam to assuage its pain.

Is it for thee blooming in youthful prime

The sweets of love for ever to forego?

And wand’ring thus alone from clime to clime,

Abjure all joy but the joy of woe?

Ah, true! “The keenest pangs the wretched find

“Are rapture to the dreary void

“The leafless desart of the mind,

“The waste of feelings unemploy’d”

But, ah! Why are those feelings unemploy’d?

Exists there not on earth a kindred mind?

Lives there no one, whose bosom would have joy’d

To calm that soul too tenderly refin’d?

Is there no one who like thee too may hate

May loath the languor of a life of rest?

Who now may pine in sad unvarying state

That wand’ring with thee had been truly blest?

And if thy wounded heart she could not cure,

Thy mind, at least might have had pow’r to calm.

Have taught thee life unloathing to endure,

And pour’d into thy soul sweet friendship's balm.

Oh, Byron! thou hast known enough of pain.

But like the tender bird that sweetly sings,

Pierc’d by the thorn, more lovely is thy strain,

Writing from agony’s deep piercing stings.

Then oh! if thou hast suffer’d, learn to feel!

And glory not in giving hopeless pain,

To tenderness thy breast no longer steel,

Soften thy heart, or harsher be thy strain!

 

Echo 2

 Should curiosity prompt you, and should you not be afraid of gratifying it, by trusting yourself alone in the Green Park at seven o’clock this evening, you will see Echo. If this evening prove inconvenient, the same chance shall still await you tomorrow evening at the same hour. Be on that side of the Green Park that has the gate opening onto Piccadilly, and leave the rest to Echo Should apathy or indifference prevent your coming, adieu for ever!