Lord Byron Quotes

The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.

She was a form of life and light
That seen, became a part of sight, And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye, The morning-star of memory! Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given, To lift from earth our low desire.

I die — but first I have possessed,
And come what may, I have been blessed.

The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name.

Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.

And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own,
And every woe a tear can claim
Except an erring sister's shame.

For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.

Shrine of the mighty! can it be
That this is all remains of thee?

Such is the aspect of this shore;
'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.

He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,—
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress,
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.

Hark! to the hurried question of despair: "Where is my child?"—an echo answers, "Where?"

Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!
He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace!

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!

The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.