"OH! IN THAT FUTURE LET US THINK TO HOLD EACH HEART THE HEART THAT SHARES; BYRON) IS DOOMED TO ALL WHO LOVE OR LIVE."-LORD BYRON. WITH THEM THE IMMORTAL WATERS DRINK, AND SOUL IN SOUL GROW DEATHLESS THEIRS!"-BYRON. A GLOW THE WORLD CAN GIVE LIKE THAT IT TAKES AWAY,-(BYRON) "THERE'S NOT "THE ABSENT ARE THE DEAD, FOR THEY ARE COLD,-(BYRON) A BROTHER'S DEATH. With all the while a cheek whose bloom Was as a mockery of the tomb, The accursed breath of dungeon dew; Alas! my own was full as chill; AND NE'ER CAN BE WHAT ONCE WE DID BEHOLD. -BYRON. WHEN THE GLOW OF EARLY THOUGHT DECLINES IN FEELING'S DULL DECAY."-LORD BYRON. [From "The Prisoner of Chillon." After reading this strain of simple and unexaggerated pathos, we feel that there were deeps in Byron's worldencrusted nature, on which he drew too seldom. O! si sic omnia.] "WHO HATH NOT SHARED THAT CALM SO STILL AND DEEP, THE VOICELESS THOUGHT WHICH WOULD NOT SPEAK BUT WEEP, A HOLY CONCORD AND A BRIGHT REGRET, A GLORIOUS SYMPATHY WITH SUNS THAT SET!"-GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. “WHERE'ER WE TREAD, 'TIS HAUNted, holy grounD; NO EARTH OF Thine is LOST IN VULGAR MOULD,-(BYRON) "YES, THIS WAS ONCE AMBITION'S AIRY HALL,-(Lord BYRON) THE Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, Who, didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep Nor need I to repine, That all those charms have passed away; The flower in ripened bloom unmatched Though by no hand untimely snatched, The leaves must drop away: I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade; The night that followed such a morn Had worn a deeper shade: DOME OF THOUGHT, THE PALACE OF THE SOUL."-BYRON. 9 BUT ONE VAST REALM OF WONDER SPREADS AROUND, AND ALL THE MUSE'S TALES SEEM TRULY TOLD."-BYRon. "WHAT IS THE WORST OF WOES THAT WAIT ON AGE? WHAT STAMPS THE WRINKLE DEEPER ON THE BROW? 98 HOW SELFISH SORROW PONDERS ON THE PAST, LORD BYRON) GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON. Thy day without a cloud hath passed, Extinguished, not decayed; As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept, if I could weep, One vigil o'er thy bed; To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, Yet how much less it were to gain, Than thus remember thee! The all of thine that cannot die Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears Than aught except its living years, [From the "Occasional Pieces." It is difficult to believe that the author of this pathetic and earnest strain was also the author of the bombast and turgidity which characterize so much of "Childe Harold" and the "Oriental Tales." Well may Mr. F. T. Palgrave call it "a masterly example of Byron's command of strong thought and close reasoning in verse." There were surely two Byrons: one, who wrote from his inner self, with infinite pathos, truth, and feeling; the other, who wrote from his vanity and his intellect, with an evident straining and want of reality.] AND CLINGS TO THOUGHTS NOW BETTER FAR REMOVED!"-BYRON. TO VIEW EACH LOVED ONE BLOTTED FROM LIFE'S PAGE, AND BE ALONE ON EARTH AS I AM NOW."-BYRON. |