George Gordon Byron

“ He hears—Why doth Prince Azo start,
⁠As if the Archangel's voice he heard?
And well he may—a deeper doom
Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb,
When he shall wake to sleep no more,
And stand the eternal throne before.
And well he may—his earthly peace
Upon that sound is doomed to cease.⁠90
That sleeping whisper of a name
Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shame.
And whose that name? that o'er his pillow
Sounds fearful as the breaking billow,
Which rolls the plank upon the shore,
⁠And dashes on the pointed rock
The wretch who sinks to rise no more,—
⁠So came upon his soul the shock. ”

“ Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convuls'd---in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving;---boundless, endless, and sublime,
The image of Eternity---the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. ”

“ The Mountain of the Jungfrau.—Time, Morning.—Manfred alone upon the Cliffs.
Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me—
The spells which I have studied baffled me—
The remedy I reck'd of tortured me;
I lean no more on super-human aid,
It hath no power upon the past, and for
The future, till the past be gulf'd in darkness,
It is not of my search.—My mother Earth!
And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,
Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight—thou shin'st not on my heart. ”

“ Till David's Lyre grew mightier than his throne!
II.
It told the triumphs of our King,
It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladdened vallies ring,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode!
Since then, though heard on earth no more,
Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove. ”

“ The sun goes forth—but Conrad's day is dim—
And the night cometh—ne'er to pass from him—
There is no darkness like the cloud of mind,
On Grief's vain eye—the blindest of the blind!
Which may not—dare not see—but turns aside
To blackest shade—nor will endure a guide!
XXIII.
His heart was form'd for softness—warp'd to wrong—
Betray'd too early, and beguil'd too long;⁠1830
Each feeling pure—as falls the dropping dew
Within the grot; like that had harden'd too;—
Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd,
But sunk, and chill'd, and petrified at last. ”

“ Of living valour, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay;
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife;
The morn the marshalling in arms; the day
Battle's magnificiently-stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'cr it, which when rent,
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover,—heaped and pent,
Rider and horse,—friend, foe,— in one red burial blent! ”

“ A VERSION OF OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.
FROM THE POEM "CARTHON."
O Thou! who rollest in yon azure field,
Round as the orb of my forefather's shield,
Whence are thy beams? From what eternal store
Dost thou, O Sun! thy vast effulgence pour?
In awful grandeur, when thou movest on high,
The stars start back and hide them in the sky;
The pale Moon sickens in thy brightening blaze,
And in the western wave avoids thy gaze.
Alone thou shinest forth—for who can rise
Companion of thy splendour in the skies! ”

“ 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 his fixed eye—
His hand was withered, and his veins were dry ”

“ MY SOUL IS DARK.
I.
My soul is dark—Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again ”

“ Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
⁠For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
⁠But waft thy name beyond the sky,
'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
⁠Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
⁠Are in that word—Farewell!—Farewell! ”

“ And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible.
CCXIV
No more—no more—Oh! never more on me
The freshness of the heart can fall like dew,
Which out of all the lovely things we see
Extracts emotions beautiful and new,
Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee:
Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew?
Alas! 't was not in them, but in thy power
To double even the sweetness of a flower.
CCXV
No more—no more—Oh! never more, my heart,
Canst thou be my sole world, my universe! ”

“ Manfred alone—Scene, a Gothic gallery—Time, Midnight.
Man. The lamp must be replenish'd, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch:
My slumbers—if I slumber—are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructor of the wise;
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. ”

“ I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.
III.
On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.
IV.
And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away;
Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head! ”

“ Oh! o'er the eye death most exerts his might,
And hurls the spirit from her throne of light!
Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,⁠1780
But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips—
Yet—yet they seem as they forbore to smile.
And wish'd repose—but only for a while;
But the white shroud, and each extended tress,
Long—fair—but spread in utter lifelessness. ”

“ Their thoughts from others by a single look;
And that sarcastic levity of tongue,
The stinging of a heart the world hath stung,
That darts in seeming playfulness around,
And makes those feel that will not own the wound;
All these seemed his, and something more beneath
Than glance could well reveal, or accent breathe.
Ambition, Glory, Love, the common aim.
That some can conquer, and that all would claim, ⁠80
Within his breast appeared no more to strive.
Yet seemed as lately they had been alive;
And some deep feeling it were vain to trace
At moments lightened o'er his livid face. ”