Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (201 page)
Read Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) Online
Authors: Homer,William Shakespeare
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
MAID of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow, before I go,
5
[Greek].
By those tresses unconfined,
Woo’d by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks’ blooming tinge;
10
By those wild eyes like the roe,
[Greek].
By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
15
What words can never speak so well;
By love’s alternate joy and woe,
[Greek].
Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
20
Though I fly to Istambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul;
Can I cease to love thee? No!
[Greek].
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream,
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless; and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air
5
Morn came and went — and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation: and all hearts
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires — and the thrones,
10
The palaces of crowned kings — the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other’s face
15
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contained;
Forests were set on fire — but hour by hour
They fell and faded — and the crackling trunks
20
Extinguish’d with a crash — and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
25
Their chins upon their clenched hands and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
30
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground.
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d
35
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food:
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: — a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
40
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought — and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails — men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
45
The meagre by the meagre were devour’d,
Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
50
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer’d not with a caress — he died.
The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two
55
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place,
Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
60
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
65
Each other’s aspects — saw and shriek’d, and died —
Ev’n of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous, and the powerful was a lump,
70
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death — a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
75
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp’d,
They slept on the abyss without a surge —
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,
80
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them — She was the Universe!
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
THE CASTLED crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine.
And hills all rich with blossom’d trees,
5
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter’d cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew’d a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert
thou
with me.
10
And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,
And hands which offer early flowers,
Walk smiling o’er this paradise:
Above, the frequent feudal towers
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray;
15
And many a rock which steeply lowers,
And noble arch in proud decay,
Look o’er this vale of vintage-bowers;
But one thing want these banks of Rhine, —
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!
20
I send the lilies given to me;
Though long before thy hand they touch,
I know that they must wither’d be,
But yet reject them not as such;
For I have cherish’d them as dear,
25
Because they yet may meet thine eye,
And guide thy soul to mine even here,
When thou behold’st them, drooping nigh,
And know’st them gather’d by the Rhine,
And offer’d from my heart to thine!
30
The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round:
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
35
Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,
Could thy dear eyes in following mine
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!
40
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
FARE thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare
thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
‘Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
5
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o’er thee
Which thou ne’er canst know again:
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show!
10
Then thou wouldst at last discover
’Twas not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend thee —
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,
15
Founded on another’s woe:
Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?
20
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
Still thine own its life retaineth,
25
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is — that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
30
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widow’d bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child’s first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say ‘Father!’
35
Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is press’d,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had bless’d!
40
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may’st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
45
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where’er thou goest,
Wither, yet with
thee
they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow,
50
Bows to thee — by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now:
But ’tis done — all words are idle —
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
55
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear’d in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die.
60
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
MY hair is gray, but not with years,
Nor grew it white
In a single night,
As men’s have grown from sudden fears;
My limbs are bow’d, though not with toil,
5
But rusted with a vile repose,
For they have been a dungeon’s spoil,
And mine has been the fate of those
To whom the goodly earth and air
Are bann’d, and barr’d — forbidden fare;
10
But this was for my father’s faith
I suffer’d chains and courted death;
That father perish’d at the stake
For tenets he would not forsake;
And for the same his lineal race
15
In darkness found a dwelling-place.
We were seven — who now are one,
Six in youth, and one in age,
Finish’d as they had begun,
Proud of Persecution’s rage;
20
One in fire, and two in field
Their belief with blood have seal’d,
Dying as their father died,
For the God their foes denied;
Three were in a dungeon cast,
25
Of whom this wreck is left the last.
There are seven pillars of Gothic mould,
In Chillon’s dungeons deep and old,
There are seven columns, massy and gray,
Dim with a dull imprison’d ray,
30
A sunbeam which hath lost its way,
And through the crevice and the cleft
Of the thick wall is fallen and left;
Creeping o’er the floor so damp,
Like a marsh’s meteor lamp.
35
And in each pillar there is a ring,
And in each ring there is a chain;
That iron is a cankering thing,
For in these limbs its teeth remain,
With marks that will not wear away,
40
Till I have done with this new day,
Which now is painful to these eyes,
Which have not seen the sun so rise
For years — I cannot count them o’er,
I lost their long and heavy score,
45
When my last brother droop’d and died,
And I lay living by his side.
They chain’d us each to a column stone,
And we were three — yet, each alone;
We could not move a single pace,
50
We could not see each other’s face,
But with that pale and livid light
That made us strangers in our sight:
And thus together — yet apart,
Fetter’d in hand, but join’d in heart,
55
’Twas still some solace, in the dearth
Of the pure elements of earth,
To hearken to each other’s speech,
And each turn comforter to each
With some new hope, or legend old,
60
Or song heroically bold;
But even these at length grew cold,
Our voices took a dreary tone,
An echo of the dungeon stone,
A grating sound, not full and free,
65
As they of yore were wont to be;
It might be fancy, but to me
They never sounded like our own.
I was the eldest of the three,
And to uphold and cheer the rest
70
I ought to do — and did my best;
And each did well in his degree.
The youngest, whom my father loved,
Because our mother’s brow was given
To him, with eyes as blue as heaven —
75
For him my soul was sorely moved;
And truly might it be distress’d
To see such bird in such a nest;
For he was beautiful as day
(When day was beautiful to me
80
As to young eagles, being free) —
A polar day, which will not see
A sunset till its summer’s gone,
Its sleepless summer of long light,
The snow-clad offspring of the sun:
85
And thus he was as pure and bright,
And in his natural spirit gay,
With tears for nought but others’ ills;
And then they flow’d like mountain rills,
Unless he could assuage the woe
90
Which he abhorr’d to view below.
The other was as pure of mind,
But form’d to combat with his kind;
Strong in his frame, and of a mood
Which ‘gainst the world in war had stood,
95
And perish’d in the foremost rank
With joy: — but not in chains to pine:
His spirit wither’d with their clank,
I saw it silently decline —
And so perchance in sooth did mine:
100
But yet I forced it on to cheer
Those relics of a home so dear.
He was a hunter of the hills,
Had follow’d there the deer and wolf;
To him this dungeon was a gulf,
105
And fetter’d feet the worst of ills.
Lake Leman lies by Chillon’s walls:
A thousand feet in depth below
Its massy waters meet and flow;
Thus much the fathom-line was sent
110
From Chillon’s snow-white battlement
Which round about the wave inthrals:
A double dungeon wall and wave
Have made — and like a living grave.
Below the surface of the lake
115
The dark vault lies wherein we lay,
We heard it ripple night and day;
Sounding o’er our heads it knock’d;
And I have felt the winter’s spray
Wash through the bars when winds were high
120
And wanton in the happy sky;
And then the very rock hath rock’d,
And I have felt it shake, unshock’d
Because I could have smiled to see
The death that would have set me free.
125
I said my nearer brother pined,
I said his mighty heart declined,
He loathed and put away his food;
It was not that ’twas coarse and rude,
For we were used to hunter’s fare,
130
And for the like had little care.
The milk drawn from the mountain goat
Was changed for water from the moat,
Our bread was such as captives’ tears
Have moistened many a thousand years,
135
Since man first pent his fellow men
Like brutes within an iron den;
But what were these to us or him?
These wasted not his heart or limb;
My brother’s soul was of that mould
140
Which in a palace had grown cold,
Had his free breathing been denied
The range of the steep mountain’s side.
But why delay the truth? — he died.
I saw, and could not hold his head,
145
Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead, —
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.
He died, — and they unlock’d his chain,
And scoop’d for him a shallow grave
150
Even from the cold earth of our cave.
I begg’d them, as a boon, to lay
His corse in dust whereon the day
Might shine — it was a foolish thought,
But then within my brain it wrought,
155
That even in death his freeborn breast
In such a dungeon could not rest.
I might have spared my idle prayer;
They coldly laugh’d — and laid him there:
The flat and turfless earth above
160
The being we so much did love;
His empty chain above it leant,
Such murder’s fitting monument!
But he, the favourite and the flower,
Most cherish’d since his natal hour,
165
His mother’s image in fair face,
The infant love of all his race,
His martyr’d father’s dearest thought,
My latest care for whom I sought
To hoard my life, that his might be
170
Less wretched now, and one day free;
He, too, who yet had held untired
A spirit natural or inspired —
He, too, was struck, and day by day
Was wither’d on the stalk away.
175
Oh, God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood: —
I’ve seen it rushing forth in blood,
I’ve seen it on the breaking ocean
180
Strive with a swoln convulsive motion,
I’ve seen the sick and ghastly bed
Of Sin delirious with its dread:
But these were horrors — this was woe
Unmix’d with such — but sure and slow.
185
He faded, and so calm and meek,
So softly worn, so sweetly weak,
So tearless, yet so tender — kind,
And grieved for those he left behind;
With all the while a cheek whose bloom
190
Was as a mockery of the tomb,
Whose tints as gently sunk away
As a departing rainbow’s ray;
An eye of most transparent light,
That almost made the dungeon bright;
195
And not a word of murmur, not
A groan o’er his untimely lot, —
A little talk of better days,
A little hope my own to raise,
For I was sunk in silence — lost
200
In this last loss, of all the most;
And then the sighs he would suppress
Of fainting nature’s feebleness,
More slowly drawn, grew less and less.
I listen’d, but I could not hear —
205
I call’d, for I was wild with fear;
I knew ‘t was hopeless, but my dread
Would not be thus admonishèd.
I call’d, and thought I heard a sound —
I burst my chain with one strong bound,
210
And rush’d to him: — I found him not,
I
only stirr’d in this black spot,
I
only lived,
I
only drew
The accursèd breath of dungeon-dew;
The last — the sole — the dearest link
215
Between me and the eternal brink,
Which bound me to my failing race,
Was broken in this fatal place.
One on the earth, and one beneath —
My brothers — both had ceased to breathe:
220
I took that hand which lay so still,
Alas! my own was full as chill;
I had not strength to stir, or strive,
But felt that I was still alive —
A frantic feeling, when we know
225
That what we love shall ne’er be so.
I know not why
I could not die,
I had no earthly hope — but faith,
And that forbade a selfish death.
230
What next befell me then and there
I know not well — I never knew;
First came the loss of light, and air,
And then of darkness too:
I had no thought, no feeling — none —
235
Among the stones, I stood a stone,
And was, scarce conscious what I wist,
As shrubless crags within the mist;
For all was blank, and bleak, and gray;
It was not night — it was not day;
240
It was not even the dungeon-light,
So hateful to my heavy sight,
But vacancy absorbing space,
And fixedness — without a place;
There were no stars, no earth, no time,
245
No check, no change, no good, no crime,
But silence, and a stirless breath
Which neither was of life nor death;
A sea of stagnant idleness,
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless!
250
A light broke in upon my brain, —
It was the carol of a bird;
It ceased, and then it came again,
The sweetest song ear ever heard,
And mine was thankful till my eyes
255
Ran over with the glad surprise,
And they that moment could not see
I was the mate of misery.
But then by dull degrees came back
My senses to their wonted track;
260
I saw the dungeon walls and floor
Close slowly round me as before,
I saw the glimmer of the sun
Creeping as it before had done,
But through the crevice where it came
265
That bird was perched, as fond and tame,
And tamer than upon the tree;
A lovely bird, with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand things,
And seemed to say them all for me!
270
I never saw its like before,
I ne’er shall see its likeness more;
It seemed like me to want a mate,
But was not half so desolate,
And it was come to love me when
275
None lived to love me so again,
And cheering from my dungeon’s brink,
Had brought me back to feel and think.
I know not if it late were free,
Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
280
But knowing well captivity,
Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine!
Or if it were, in wingèd guise,
A visitant from Paradise;
For — Heaven forgive that thought! the while
285
Which made me both to weep and smile —
I sometimes deem’d that it might be
My brother’s soul come down to me;
But then at last away it flew,
And then ’twas mortal well I knew,
290
For he would never thus have flown,
And left me twice so doubly lone,
Lone — as the corse within its shroud,
Lone — as a solitary cloud,
A single cloud on a sunny day,
295
While all the rest of heaven is clear,
A frown upon the atmosphere
That hath no business to appear
When skies are blue and earth is gay.
