The works of Lord Byron :: :: University of Virginia Library

The works of Lord Byron

A new, revised and enlarged edition, with illustrations. Edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge and R. E. Prothero

Byron, George Gordon Byron (1788-1824)

Vol. I. HOURS OF IDLENESS AND OTHER EARLY POEMS.

II.

III.

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA.

TO FLORENCE.

STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDERSTORM.

STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THE AMBRACIAN GULF.

THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN!

WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS.

LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS.

MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.

FRAGMENT FROM THE “MONK OF ATHOS.”

LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.

TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG, “Δευτε παιδες των Ελληνων.”

TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG, “Μπενω μεσ' το περιβολι, Ωραιοτατη Χαηδη,” κ.τ.λ.

ON PARTING.

AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE!

ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE.

EUTHANASIA.

AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR.

LINES TO A LADY WEEPING.

IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.

ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN.

THE CHAIN I GAVE.

LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.

PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS.

VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE AT HALES-OWEN.

REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE!

TO TIME.

TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.

THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE.

ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE “ORIGIN OF LOVE.”

ON THE QUOTATION, “And my true faith can alter never, Though thou art gone perhaps for ever.”

REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSION'S POWER.

IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.

ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.

LARA:

HEBREW MELODIES.

POEMS 1814–1816.

THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.

PARISINA.

POEMS OF THE SEPARATION.

IV.

Vol. IV.

Vol. V.

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ON PARTING.

1

The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
Shall never part from mine,
Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.

2

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:
The tear that from thine eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.

3

I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;

Nor one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.

4

Nor need I write—to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak?

5

By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart, no longer free,
Must bear the love it cannot show,
And silent ache for thee.

March, 1811.