Lord Byron - Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

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There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more.

Lord Byron
History's purchased page to call them great.

Lord Byron
I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

Lord Byron
As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

Lord Byron
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.

Lord Byron
The sky is changed,-and such a change! O night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder.

Lord Byron
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?

Lord Byron
The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!

Lord Byron
I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.

Lord Byron
Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year.

Lord Byron
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?

Lord Byron
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.

Lord Byron
Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

Lord Byron
Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee,
Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved;
Dull is the eye that will not weep to see
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed
By British hands.

Lord Byron
Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun,
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon.

Lord Byron
Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground.

Lord Byron
Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home;
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
He had the passion and the power to roam.

Lord Byron
Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

Lord Byron
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.

Lord Byron
The very knowledge that he lived in vain,
That all was over on this side the tomb,
Had made Despair a smilingness assume.

Lord Byron
I have not loved the world, nor the world me; I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd To its idolatries a patient knee.

Lord Byron
And Harold stands upon this place of skulls.

Lord Byron
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.

Lord Byron
Thou fatal Waterloo.
Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say— "Here, where the sword united nations drew,
Our countrymen were warring on that day!"
And this is much, and all which will not pass away.

Lord Byron
The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine.

Lord Byron
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

Lord Byron
Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.

Lord Byron
His love was passion's essence:—as a tree
On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame
Kindled he was, and blasted.
Of Jean-Jacques rousseau

Lord Byron
He who ascends to mountaintops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below.

Lord Byron
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother— he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday.

Lord Byron