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Lord Byron

Lord Byron

Bowles and Campbell

To the tune of ‘Why, how now, saucy jade?’
 
Why, how now, saucy Tom?
If you thus must ramble,
I will publish some
Remarks on Mister Campbell.
 
ANSWER
 
Why, how now, Billy Bowles?
Sure the priest is maudlin!
(To the public) How can you, d—n your souls!
Listen to his twaddling?

#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury

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On the Death of a Young Lady

Hush’d are the winds, and still th… Not e’en a zephyr wanders through… Whilst I return, to view my Marga… And scatter flowers on the dust I… Within this narrow cell reclines h…
To Caroline: When I Hear That You Express an Affection So Warm

When I hear that you express an a… Ne’er think, my beloved, that I d… For your lip would the soul of sus… And your eye beams a ray which can… Yet, still, this fond bosom regret…
To Emma

Since now the hour is come at last… When you must quit your anxious lo… Since now our dream of bliss is pa… One pang, my girl, and all is over… Alas! that pang will be severe,
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The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE… Nisus, the guardian of the portal… Eager to gild his arms with hostil… Well skill’d in fight the quiverin… Or pour his arrow, through th’ emb…
To Florence

Oh Lady! when I left the shore, The distant shore which gave me bi… I hardly thought to grieve once mo… To quit another spot on earth: Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
The Charity Ball

What matter the pangs of a husband… If his sorrows in exile be great o… So the Pharisee’s glories around… And the saint patronizes her ‘char… What matters—a heart which, though…
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Lines, on Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill

And thou wert sad—yet I was not w… And thou wert sick, and yet I was… Methought that joy and health alon… Where I was not—and pain and sorr… And is it thus?—it is as I foreto…
Lines Written Beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow on the Hill, Sept. 2, 1807

Spot of my youth! whose hoary bran… Swept by the breeze that fans thy… Where now alone I muse, who oft h… With those I loved, thy soft and… With those who, scattered far, per…
To the Author of a Sonnet, Beginning, '

Thy verse is 'sad’ enough, no doub… A devilish deal more sad than witt… Why we should weep I can’t find o… Unless for thee we weep in pity. Yet there is one I pity more;
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Damætas

In law an infant, and in years a b… In mind a slave to every vicious j… From every sense of shame and virt… In lies an adept, in deceit a fien… Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a c…
On the Star of 'The Legion of Honour’ (From the French)

Star of the brave!—whose beam hath… Such glory o’er the quick and dead… Thou radiant and adored deceit! Which millions rush’d in arms to g… Wild meteor of immortal birth;
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Thy cheek is pale with thought, bu… And yet so lovely, that if Mirth… Its rose of whiteness with the bri… My heart would wish away that rude… And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—…
Remember Him, Whom Passion’s Power

Remember him, whom Passion’s powe… Severely—-deeply—-vainly proved: Remember thou that dangerous hour, When neither fell, though both wer… That yielding breast, that melting…
Don Juan: Canto the Twelfth

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