Quotes
Quotes - Lord Byron
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life,
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!
He makes a solitude, and calls it--peace!
Hark! to the hurried question of despair:
"Where is my child?"--an echo answers, "Where?
The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.
O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limit to their sway,--
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
The power of thought,--the magic of the mind!
The many still must labour for the one.
There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
Hope withering fled, and Mercy sighed farewell!
Farewell!
For in that word, that fatal word,--howe'er
We promise, hope, believe,--there breathes despair.
No words suffice the secret soul to show,
For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
He left a corsair's name to other times,
Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes.
Lord of himself,--that heritage of woe!
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 mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold.
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.
Yet in my lineaments they trace
Some features of my father's face.
Fare thee well! and if forever,
Still forever fare thee well.
Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred.
In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
When all of genius which can perish dies.
