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George Gordon, Lord Byron
Poet
Thy Days Are Done
Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her
chosen Son,
The slaughter of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom
he restored!
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death!
The
generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath:
Within our veins its
currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath!
Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be
the battle-
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices pour'd!
To weep
would do thy glory wrong:
Thou shalt not be deplored.
So We'll Go No More A-
So we'll go no more a-
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And
the moon still be as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul outwears
the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the
night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-
By
the light of the moon.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs,
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Looked to the wingéd Lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was-
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers:
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone-
States fall, arts fade-
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
Darkness
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the
stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy
earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went-
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation;
and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires-
The palaces of crowned kings-
The habitations of all things
which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
And men were gather'd round
their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who
dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-
A fearful hope was
all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire-
They fell and faded-
Extinguish'd with a crash-
The brows of men
by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon
them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon
their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral
piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a
past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their
teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And
flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And
twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless-
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With
blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All
earth was but one thought-
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of
famine fed upon all entrails-
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The
meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And
he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till
hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out
no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the
hand
Which answer'd not with a caress-
The crowd was famish'd by degrees;
but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The
dying embers of an altar-
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy
usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble
ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a
mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's
aspects-
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing
who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend.
The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless,
treeless, manless, lifeless-
A lump of death-
The rivers, lakes
and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless
lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept
on the abyss without a surge-
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The
moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant
air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them-
When We Two Parted
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-
To sever for years,
Pale
grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The
dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy
vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its
shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me-
Why
wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well-
Long, long I shall
rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met-
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart
could forget,
Thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I
greet thee?-
With silence and tears.
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all
that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to
that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which
waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely
sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles
that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace
with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Thou Whose Spell Can Raise The Dead
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise
thy buried head!
"King, behold the phantom seer!"
Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre
of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
Death stood all glassy
in the fixed eye:
His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony
whiteness, glitterd there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
From lips that
moved not and unbreathing frame,
Like cavern'd winds the hollow acccents came.
Saul
saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder-
"Why
is my sleep disquieted?
"Who is he that calls the dead?
"Is it thou, Oh King? Behold
"Bloodless
are these limbs, and cold:
"Such are mine; and such shall be
"Thine, to-
"Ere the coming day is done,
"Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
"Fare thee
well, but for a day,
"Then we mix our mouldering clay.
"Thou, thy race, lie pale and
low,
"Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
"And the falchion by thy side,
"To thy heart,
thy hand shall guide:
"Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
"Son and sire, the house
of Saul!"