 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
90
BYRON.
“Most wretched men
Are cradled into Poetry by wrong:
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.”
—Shelley.
Are cradled into Poetry by wrong:
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.”
—Shelley.
He was Humanity's incarnate wail—
Wasting away his soul in one sad tale;
The living Type of Truths that shall prevail
Long after individual power shall fail.
Wasting away his soul in one sad tale;
The living Type of Truths that shall prevail
Long after individual power shall fail.
Perched on the cloud-crowned altitude sublime
Of Nature's Alps, Jove's Eagle, in his prime,
Heard the loud cataract of the stream of Time,
Breaking in thunder over shoals of crime.
Of Nature's Alps, Jove's Eagle, in his prime,
Heard the loud cataract of the stream of Time,
Breaking in thunder over shoals of crime.
Self-exiled from his native land, his flight
Was towards Italia, Land of Pure Delight!
Whence to the sun he turned his eagle-sight,
Striking his golden harp with hands of might.
Was towards Italia, Land of Pure Delight!
Whence to the sun he turned his eagle-sight,
Striking his golden harp with hands of might.
Then, like God's angel in the sun, he stood,
Pouring his soul out in one bitter flood
Of sorrow, writing, with his own heart's blood,
The Funeral Song of England's selfish brood.
Pouring his soul out in one bitter flood
Of sorrow, writing, with his own heart's blood,
The Funeral Song of England's selfish brood.
Singing the Funeral Song of his own caste,
He wrote the Epitaph of all the Past—
Refusing with his own class to be classed—
Dying in exile at the very last!
He wrote the Epitaph of all the Past—
Refusing with his own class to be classed—
Dying in exile at the very last!
Archangel-like, he looked in God's own face,
Whose features in lakes, mountains he did trace—
Nature, God's symbol, with unstudied grace,
With child-like trust, did he in joy embrace.
Whose features in lakes, mountains he did trace—
Nature, God's symbol, with unstudied grace,
With child-like trust, did he in joy embrace.
He raised the golden cup up to his lips
Of life's ignoble pleasures—now he sips!
As when the moon into the sun's orb dips,
His cherub soul is turned to an eclipse!
Of life's ignoble pleasures—now he sips!
As when the moon into the sun's orb dips,
His cherub soul is turned to an eclipse!
91
For, wearied with the emptiness of life,
He sought this respite from his bitter grief—
This transient Lethe of his soul's deep strife
With which his Eagle-heart was ever rife.
He sought this respite from his bitter grief—
This transient Lethe of his soul's deep strife
With which his Eagle-heart was ever rife.
But when the battle-cry of Freedom fell
Out of the soul of Greece, (his own death-knell!)
The same sweet cup he seemed to love so well,
Was dashed to fragments on the rock of Hell!
Out of the soul of Greece, (his own death-knell!)
The same sweet cup he seemed to love so well,
Was dashed to fragments on the rock of Hell!
For when Greece, from her lofty mountains, heard
The soul-uplifting song of this great bird,
She shouted “Liberty!”—the last sweet word
That fell from out his Heavenly Heptachord.
The soul-uplifting song of this great bird,
She shouted “Liberty!”—the last sweet word
That fell from out his Heavenly Heptachord.
Beside God's throne, Jove's Eagle, in his prime,
Hears the loud cataract of the stream of Time,
Breaking in thunder over shoals of crime,
Die in the Anthems of the Heavenly clime.
Hears the loud cataract of the stream of Time,
Breaking in thunder over shoals of crime,
Die in the Anthems of the Heavenly clime.
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |