Poems List

Written Shortly After The Marriage Of Miss Chaworth

Written Shortly After The Marriage Of Miss Chaworth

Hills of Annesley, bleak and barren,
Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd,
How the northern tempests, warring,
Howl above thy tufted shade!

Now no more, the hours beguiling,
Former favourite haunts I see;
Now no more my Mary smiling
Makes ye seem a heaven to me.
425

Were My Bosom As False as Thou Deem'st It To Be

Were My Bosom As False as Thou Deem'st It To Be

Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
I need not have wander'd from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.


If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free!
If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.


I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In his hand is my heart and my hope and
in thine
The land and the life which for him I resign.
386

When I Roved A Young Highlander

When I Roved A Young Highlander

When I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,
And climb'd thy steep sumrnit, oh Morven of snow!
To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,
Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below,
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,
And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew,
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear
Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you?


Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name,What
passion can dwell in the heart of a child?
But still I pereceive an emotion the same
As I felt, when a boy, on the crag cover'd wild:
One image alone on my bosom impress'd
I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new;
And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd;
And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you.


I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide,
From mountain to mountain I bounded along
I breasted the billows of Dee's rushing tide,
And heard at a distance the Highlander's song:
At eve, on my heathcover'd
couch of repose,
No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view;
And warm to the skies my devotions aoose,
For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.


I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone;
The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more;
As the last of my race, I must wither alone,
And delight but in days I have witness'd before:
Ah! splendour has raised but embitter'd my lot;
More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew:
Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not forgot;
Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.


When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,
I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen
When I see the soft blue of a lovespeaking
eye
I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene;
When, haply, some lightwaving
locks I behold,
That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue,
I think on the long, flowing ringlets of gold,
The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you.


Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once more
Shall rise to my sight In their mantles of snow:
But while these soar above me, unchanged as before
Will Mary be there to receive me? ah,
no!
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred!
Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu!
No home in the forest shall shelter my head,



Ah! Mary, what home could be mine but with you?
665

Versicles

Versicles


I Read the 'Christabel';
Very well:
I read the Missionary';
Pretty very
I tried at Ilderim ;
Ahem!
I read a sheet of 'Marg'ret of Anjou';
Can you?
I turn'd a page of Scott's 'Waterloo';
Pooh! pooh!
I look'd at Wordsworth's milkwhite
'Rylstone Doe';
Hillo!
&c. &c. &c.


March 1817.
424

We Sate Down And Wept By The Waters

We Sate Down And Wept By The Waters

I.
We sate down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.
II.
While sadly we gazed on the river
Which roll'd on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
III.
On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!
528

Translation Of The Romaic Song

Translation Of The Romaic Song

I enter thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haidée,
Each morning where Flora reposes,
For surely I see her in thee.
Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee,
Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Which utters its song to adore thee,
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Through her eyes, through her every feature,
Shines the soul of the young Haidée.


But the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandon'd the bowers;
Bring me hemlock since
mine is ungrateful,
That herb is more fragrant than flowers.
The poison, when pour 'd from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,
The draught shall be sweet to my soul.
Too cruel! in vain I implore thee
My heart from these horrors to save:
Will nought to my bosom restore thee?
Then open the gates of the grave.


As the chief who to combat advances
Secure of his conquest before,
Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances,
Halt pierced through my heart to its core.
Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish
By pangs which a smile would dispel?
Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,
For torture repay me too well?
Now sad is the garden of roses,
Beloved but false Haidée!
There Flora all wither'd reposes,
And mourns o'er thing absence with me.
480

Translation Of The Famous Greek War Song

Translation Of The Famous Greek War Song

Sons of the Greeks, arise!
The glorious hour's gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.


CHORUS.
Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.


Then manfully despising
The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
Let your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages,
Behold the coming strife!
Hellenes of past ages,
Oh, start again to life!
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, loin with me!
And the sevenhill'd
city seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we're free.


Sons of Greeks, &c.


Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers
Lethargic dolt thou lie?
Awake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally!
Leonidas recalling,
That chief of ancient song,
Who saved ye once from falling,
The terrible! the strong!
Who made that bold diversion
In old Thermopylæ
And warring with the Persian
To keep his country free;
With his three hundred waging
The battle, long he stood,
And like a lion raging,
Expired in seas of blood.
Sons of Greeks, &c.
559

Translation From Horace

Translation From Horace

[Justum et tenacem propositi virum, &c.]

The man of firm and noble soul
No factious clamours can control;
No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow
Can swerve him from his just intent:
Gales the warring waves which plough,
By Auster on the billows spent,
To curb the Adriatic main,
Would awe his fix'd, determined mind in vain.
Ay, and the red right arm of Jove,
Hurtling his lightnings from above,
With all his terrors, there unfurl'd,
He would unmoved, unawed, behold.
The flames of an expiring world,
Again in crashing chaos roll'd,
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd,
Might light his glorious funeral pile:
Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile
685

Translation Of A Romaic Love Song

Translation Of A Romaic Love Song

Ah! Love was never yet without
The pang, the agony, the doubt,
Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh,
While day and night roll darkling by.


Without one friend to hear my woe,
I faint, I die beneath the blow.
That Love had arrows well I knew;
Alas! I find them poison'd too.


Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net
Which Love around your haunts hath set;
Or, circled by his fatal fire,
Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire.


A bird of free and careless wing
Was I through many a smiling spring;
But caught within the subtle snare,
I burn, and feebly flutter there.


Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
Can neither feel nor pity pain,
The cold repulse, the look askance,
The lightning of Love's angry glance.


In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine;
Now hope, and he who hoped, decline'
Like melting wax, or withering flower,
I feel my passion, and thy power.


My light of life! ah, tell me why
That pouting lip, and alter'd eye?
My bird of love! my beauteous mate!
And art thou changed, and canst thou hate?


Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow:
What wretch with me would barter woe?
My bird! relent: one note could give
A charm to bid thy lover live.


My curdling blood, my madd'ning brain,
In silent anguish I sustain
And still thy heart, without partaking
One pang, exults while
mine is breaking.


Pour me the poison; fear not thou!
Thou canst not murder more than now:
I've lived to curse my natal day,
And Love, that thus can lingering slay.


My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
Can patience preach thee into rest?



Alas! too late, I dearly know
That joy is harbinger of woe.
601

To Woman

To Woman

Woman! experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought:
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory! Thou choicest blessing
When join'd with hope, when still possessing;
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope't will last for aye,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
'Woman, thy vows are traced in sand.'
497

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Identification and basic context

Lord Byron, whose full name was George Gordon Byron, later Noel Byron, 6th Baron Byron, is widely recognized as one of the most prominent figures of the Romantic era in English literature. He was born into the British aristocracy, inheriting the title of Baron Byron. His nationality was British, and he wrote exclusively in English. The historical context in which he lived was one of significant social, political, and literary upheaval, including the aftermath of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, and the flourishing of Romanticism.

Childhood and education

Byron's childhood was marked by hardship. His mother, Catherine Gordon, was left with little money and raised him in Aberdeen, Scotland. His father, Captain John Byron, a notorious womanizer, abandoned them when George was three years old. This early separation and his mother's often harsh treatment left a profound impact on him. He was educated at Aberdeen Grammar School and then attended Trinity College, Cambridge. Despite his aristocratic background, his family's financial struggles meant he often felt like an outsider. His early readings included classical literature, the Bible, and the works of contemporary poets, which, along with his volatile home life, shaped his early sensibilities.

Literary trajectory

Byron's literary career began in earnest during his Cambridge years. His first collection of poems, 'Hours of Idleness', published in 1807, was met with harsh criticism, notably from 'The Edinburgh Review', which spurred him to respond with his satire 'English Bards and Scotch Reviewers' (1809). His first major success came with the publication of the opening cantos of 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' in 1812, which propelled him to instant fame. This was followed by a series of highly successful narrative poems, often drawing on historical or exotic settings, such as 'The Giaour' (1813), 'The Bride of Abydos' (1813), 'The Corsair' (1814), and 'Lara' (1814). His dramatic works, including 'Manfred' (1817) and 'Cain' (1821), explored profound philosophical and theological questions. His epic poem 'Don Juan' (begun in 1819), a satirical masterpiece, showcased his wit, irony, and expansive vision. Byron also contributed to various literary periodicals and anthologies, and his letters and journals provide significant insights into his life and thought.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Byron's major works include 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage', 'Don Juan', 'Manfred', 'Cain', and numerous shorter lyric poems and narrative tales. His dominant themes encompass love (often passionate and unrequited), freedom (personal and political), the struggle against fate, the sublime beauty of nature, heroism, the disillusionment of experience, and critiques of social and religious hypocrisy. Stylistically, Byron was known for his vivid imagery, powerful rhythm, and dramatic intensity. He employed a wide range of forms, from the Spenserian stanza in 'Childe Harold' to ottava rima in 'Don Juan', and experimented with blank verse and other metrical structures. His poetic voice is often marked by a compelling blend of romantic idealism, passionate emotion, sharp wit, and profound irony. His language is rich and evocative, employing striking metaphors and a commanding rhetorical power. Byron's work is often associated with Romanticism, but his cynicism and satirical edge also prefigure later literary developments.

Cultural and historical context

Byron lived through a period of immense change, influenced by the ideals of the French Revolution and the ensuing Napoleonic Wars. He was a prominent figure in the second generation of British Romantics, alongside poets like Shelley and Keats. His radical political views and bohemian lifestyle often placed him at odds with the conservative establishment of his time. His travels and experiences, particularly his involvement in the Greek War of Independence, where he became a national hero, deeply intertwined his life with the political currents of Europe. He was part of a vibrant literary circle, though his relationships with contemporaries like Wordsworth and Coleridge were complex, often marked by admiration and critical distance.

Personal life

Byron's personal life was as dramatic and turbulent as his poetry. His relationships were often intense and tumultuous, including a scandalous marriage to Annabella Milbanke, which ended in separation and fuelled much public speculation. He also had rumored relationships with both men and women. His close friendships with figures like Thomas Moore, his biographer, and Percy Bysshe Shelley were significant. Byron suffered from a club foot, a physical disability that he felt deeply and which may have contributed to his rebellious spirit and his fascination with heroic figures. His later years were defined by his expatriation from England and his commitment to the cause of Greek independence.

Recognition and reception

Byron achieved immense fame during his lifetime, becoming a European celebrity. His works were widely read and admired, and his persona captivated the public imagination. He was hailed as a literary genius and a romantic hero. However, his radicalism and personal scandals also led to significant criticism and public condemnation, particularly after his separation from his wife. Posthumously, his reputation has endured, solidified by his literary achievements and his heroic death. While his works have been subject to critical re-evaluation, his place in the canon of English literature is secure.

Influences and legacy

Byron was influenced by classical poets, Shakespeare, and contemporary Romantic writers. His own influence has been vast, extending across Europe and beyond. The concept of the "Byronic hero" – a brooding, passionate, and rebellious individual – became a significant archetype in literature and culture. He inspired countless writers, artists, and musicians, and his work has been translated into numerous languages. His engagement with themes of liberty and his personal sacrifice for the Greek cause left a lasting legacy.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Byron's work has been interpreted in various ways, often seen as a complex interplay between romantic idealism and cynical realism. Critics have explored the autobiographical elements in his poetry, the philosophical depth of his critiques of religion and society, and his mastery of satire. Debates have often centered on the sincerity of his emotions, the extent of his political engagement, and the relationship between his life and his art. His exploration of themes like freedom, fate, and the human condition continues to resonate.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Byron was known for his eccentricities, including keeping a bear as a pet at Cambridge. He was also an accomplished swimmer and once swam the Hellespont. His diaries and letters reveal a man of great intellect, wit, and also considerable vanity and self-pity. He had a deep affection for his half-sister, Augusta Leigh, which fueled scandalous rumors. His habits included writing late into the night, often fueled by wine and opium.

Death and memory

Byron died in 1824 at the age of 36 from a fever in Missolonghi, Greece, while actively engaged in the Greek War of Independence. His death was mourned throughout Greece and widely in Europe, solidifying his heroic status. His body was returned to England, and he is buried in the parish church of Hucknall. His memory is preserved through his enduring literary works, his status as a national hero in Greece, and the ongoing fascination with his life and legend.