Poems by George Gordon Byron

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!

Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,

There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.

Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl

His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,

And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews

Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?

by George Gordon Byron

Prometheus

Titan! to whose immortal eyes

The sufferings of mortality,

Seen in their sad reality,

Were not as things that gods despise;

What was thy pity's recompense?

A silent suffering, and intense;

The rock, the vulture, and the chain,

by George Gordon Byron

I Speak Not, I Trace Not, I Breathe Not Thy Name

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;

There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;

But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart

The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.

Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,

Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?

We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -

We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!

by George Gordon Byron

The Eve Of Waterloo

There was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gathered 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 looked love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage bell;

by George Gordon Byron

The Destruction Of Sennacherib

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,

That host with their banners at sunset were seen:

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,

by George Gordon Byron

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt Canto III

Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!

Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?

When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled,

And then we parted,--not as now we part,

But with a hope.--

Awaking with a start,

The waters heave around me; and on high

by George Gordon Byron

Remember Thee! Remember Thee!

Remember thee! remember thee!

Till Lethe quench life's burning stream

Remorse and shame shall cling to thee,

And haunt thee like a feverish dream!

Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.

Thy husband too shall think of thee:

By neither shalt thou be forgot,

Thou false to him, thou fiend to me!

by George Gordon Byron

Stanzas For Music: They Say That Hope Is Happiness

They say that Hope is happiness;

But genuine Love must prize the past,

And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:

They rose the first--they set the last;

And all that Memory loves the most

Was once our only Hope to be,

And all that Hope adored and lost

Hath melted into Memory.

by George Gordon Byron

So We'll Go No More A-Roving

So we'll go no more a-roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart still be as loving,

And the moon still be as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul outwears the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

And love itself have rest.

by George Gordon Byron

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt Canto IV

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;

A palace and a prison on each hand:

I saw from out the wave her structures rise

As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:

A thousand years their cloudy wings expand

Around me, and a dying Glory smiles

O'er the far times, when many a subject land

by George Gordon Byron

The Dark, Blue Sea

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but nature more,

From these our interviews, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the universe, and feel

by George Gordon Byron

She Walks In Beauty

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 mellowed to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

by George Gordon Byron