Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn edited by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie |
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Lament for Lord Byron.
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 | Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn |  |
319
Lament for Lord Byron.
Lament for Lord Byron,
In full slow of grief,
As a sept of Milesians
Would mourn o'er their chief!
With the loud voice of weeping,
With sorrow's deep tone,
We shall keen o'er our poet,
“All faded and gone.”
In full slow of grief,
As a sept of Milesians
Would mourn o'er their chief!
With the loud voice of weeping,
With sorrow's deep tone,
We shall keen o'er our poet,
“All faded and gone.”
Though in far Missolunghi
His body is laid;
Though the hands of the stranger
His lone grave have made;
Though no foot from Old England
Its surface will tread,
Nor the sun of Old England
Shine over its head;
His body is laid;
Though the hands of the stranger
His lone grave have made;
Though no foot from Old England
Its surface will tread,
Nor the sun of Old England
Shine over its head;
Yet, bard of the Corsair,
High-spirited Childe;
Thou who sang'st of Lord Manfred
The destiny wild!
Thou star, whose bright radiance
Illumined our verse,
Our souls cross the blue seas,
To mourn o'er thy hearse.
High-spirited Childe;
Thou who sang'st of Lord Manfred
The destiny wild!
Thou star, whose bright radiance
Illumined our verse,
Our souls cross the blue seas,
To mourn o'er thy hearse.
Thy faults and thy follies,
Whatever they were,
Be their memory dispersed
As the winds of the air;
No reproaches from me
On thy course shall be thrown,—
Let the man who is sinless
Uplift the first stone.
Whatever they were,
Be their memory dispersed
As the winds of the air;
No reproaches from me
On thy course shall be thrown,—
Let the man who is sinless
Uplift the first stone.
In thy vigor of manhood
Small praise from my tongue
Had thy fame or thy talents,
Or merriment wrung;
For that Church, and that State, and
That monarch I loved,
Which too oft thy hot censure
Or rash laughter moved.
Small praise from my tongue
Had thy fame or thy talents,
Or merriment wrung;
For that Church, and that State, and
That monarch I loved,
Which too oft thy hot censure
Or rash laughter moved.
But I hoped in my bosom
That moment would come,
When thy feelings would wander
Again to their home.
For that soul, O last Byron!
In brillianter hours,
Must have turn'd to its country—
Must still have been ours.
That moment would come,
When thy feelings would wander
Again to their home.
For that soul, O last Byron!
In brillianter hours,
Must have turn'd to its country—
Must still have been ours.
Now slumber, bright spirit!
Thy body, in peace,
Sleeps with heroes and sages,
And poets of Greece;
While thy soul in the tongue of
Even greater than they,
Is embalme'd till the mountains
And seas pass away.
Thy body, in peace,
Sleeps with heroes and sages,
And poets of Greece;
While thy soul in the tongue of
Even greater than they,
Is embalme'd till the mountains
And seas pass away.
| Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn | |