On Revisiting Harrow. [1]

1.

Here once engaged the stranger's view
Young Friendship's record simply trac'd;
Few were her words, - but yet, though few,
Resentment's hand the line defac'd.


2.

Deeply she cut - but not eras'd -
The characters were still so plain,
That Friendship once return'd, and gaz'd, -
Till Memory hail'd the words again.


3.

Repentance plac'd them as before;
Forgiveness join'd her gentle name;
So fair the inscription seem'd once more,
That Friendship thought it still the same.


4.

Thus might the Record now have been;
But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour,
Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between,
And blotted out the line for ever.

George Gordon Byron

George Gordon Byron, commonly known as Lord Byron, was a British poet and leading figure in the Romantic movement. He is regarded as one of the greatest British poets and remains widely read and influential. Among his best-known works are the lengthy narrative poems Don Juan and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, and the short lyric She Walks in Beauty. Byron's personal life was marked by scandal and he was famously described by Lady Caroline Lamb as "mad, bad, and dangerous to know."

George Gordon Byron

To Harriet. [1]

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage - To Ianthe. {1}

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

Fill The Goblet Again. A Song.

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

On A Change Of Masters At A Great Public School. [1]

George Gordon Byron, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To George, Earl Delawarr.

1.

Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other;
The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true;
The love which you felt was the love of a brother,
Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.


2.

But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion;
The attachment of years, in a moment expires:
Like Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion,
But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires.


3.

Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together,
And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow:
In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather!
But Winter's rude tempests are gathering now.


4.

No more with Affection shall Memory blending,
The wonted delights of our childhood retrace:
When ...

George Gordon Byron

On A Distant View Of The Village And School Of Harrow On The Hill, 1806.

    Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.^[1]

    - Virgil.


1.

Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection
Embitters the present, compar'd with the past;
Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,
And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last; ^[2]

2.

Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied; ^[3]
How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrance,
Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd!


3.

Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought; ^[4]
The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o'er the precep...

George Gordon Byron

To A Lady.

1.

Oh! had my Fate been join'd with thine, ^[1]
As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.


2.

To thee, these early faults I owe,
To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.


3.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow'd by thee upon another. ^[1]


4.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.


5.

Ah! since thy angel form ...

George Gordon Byron

Lines On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill.[91]

And thou wert sad - yet I was not with thee;
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that Joy and Health alone could be
Where I was not - and pain and sorrow here!
And is it thus? - it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,
While Heaviness collects the shattered spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.

I am too well avenged! - but 'twas my right;
Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent
To be the Nemesis who should requite - ^[92]
Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument.
Mercy is for the merciful! - if thou
Ha...

George Gordon Byron

Epistle To Augusta.[83]

I.

My Sister! my sweet Sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
Go where I will, to me thou art the same -
A loved regret which I would not resign.^[z]
There yet are two things in my destiny, -
A world to roam through, and a home with thee.^[84]

II.

The first were nothing - had I still the last,
It were the haven of my happiness;
But other claims and other ties thou hast,^[aa]
And mine is not the wish to make them less.
A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past^[ab]
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress;
Reversed for him our grandsire's^[85] fate of yore, -
He had no rest at sea, nor...

George Gordon Byron

To The Earl Of Clare.

Tu semper amoris
Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago.

VAL. FLAC. 'Argonaut', iv. 36.


1.

Friend of my youth! when young we rov'd,
Like striplings, mutually belov'd,
With Friendship's purest glow;
The bliss, which wing'd those rosy hours,
Was such as Pleasure seldom showers
On mortals here below.


2.

The recollection seems, alone,
Dearer than all the joys I've known,
When distant far from you:
Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,
And sigh again, adieu!


3.

My pensive mem'ry lingers o'er,
Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more,
Those scenes regretted ever;
The measure of our youth is full,
Life's evening dream is dark and dull,

George Gordon Byron