Quotes
Quotes - Lord Byron
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
None are so desolate but something dear,
Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.
Coop'd in their winged, sea-girt citadel.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not,
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state:
An hour may lay it in the dust.
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.
I am as a weed
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
He who grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,
So that no wonder waits him.
Years steal
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb,
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
Did ye not hear it?--No! 't was but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell.
And there was mounting in hot haste.
Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come!"
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave.
Battle's magnificently stern array.
