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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)

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Vol. I. HOURS OF IDLENESS AND OTHER EARLY POEMS.
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Vol. II.
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Vol. III.
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POEMS 1809–1813.
  
THE GIRL OF CADIZ.
  
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.
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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.
  
FAREWELL TO MALTA.
  
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
  
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,
  
TO THYRZA.
  
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.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
  
THE GIAOUR:
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THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
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THE CORSAIR:
  
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
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LARA:
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HEBREW MELODIES.
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POEMS 1814–1816.
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THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.
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PARISINA.
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POEMS OF THE SEPARATION.
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Vol. IV.
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Vol. V.
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[volume]

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FROM THE PORTUGUESE.

“TU MI CHAMAS.”

1

In moments to delight devoted,
“My Life!” with tenderest tone, you cry;
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Dear words! on which my heart had doted,
If Youth could neither fade nor die.

2

To Death even hours like these must roll,
Ah! then repeat those accents never;
Or change “my Life!” into “my Soul!”
Which, like my Love, exists for ever.
ANOTHER VERSION.
You call me still your Life.—Oh! change the word—
Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh:
Say rather I'm your Soul; more just that name,
For, like the soul, my Love can never die.
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