The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone[iii] as some Volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze--
A funeral pile.
Is lone[iii] as some Volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze--
A funeral pile.
Byron
"]
LAST WORDS ON GREECE.
WHAT are to me those honours or renown
Past or to come, a new-born people's cry?
Albeit for such I could despise a crown
Of aught save laurel, or for such could die.
I am a fool of passion, and a frown
Of thine to me is as an adder's eye.
To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down
Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high;
Such is this maddening fascination grown,
So strong thy magic or so weak am I.
[First published, _Murray's Magazine_, February,
1887, vol. i. p. 146. ]
ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR. [133]
1.
'T IS time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
2.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
3.
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone[iii] as some Volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze--
A funeral pile.
4.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
5.
But 't is not _thus_--and 't is not _here_--[iv]
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
Where Glory decks the hero's bier,[v]
Or binds his brow.
6.
The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,[vi]
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,[134]
Was not more free.
7.
Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake! )
Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,[vii]
And then strike home!
8.
Tread those reviving passions down,[viii]
Unworthy manhood! --unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of Beauty be.
LAST WORDS ON GREECE.
WHAT are to me those honours or renown
Past or to come, a new-born people's cry?
Albeit for such I could despise a crown
Of aught save laurel, or for such could die.
I am a fool of passion, and a frown
Of thine to me is as an adder's eye.
To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down
Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high;
Such is this maddening fascination grown,
So strong thy magic or so weak am I.
[First published, _Murray's Magazine_, February,
1887, vol. i. p. 146. ]
ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR. [133]
1.
'T IS time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
2.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
3.
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone[iii] as some Volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze--
A funeral pile.
4.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
5.
But 't is not _thus_--and 't is not _here_--[iv]
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
Where Glory decks the hero's bier,[v]
Or binds his brow.
6.
The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,[vi]
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,[134]
Was not more free.
7.
Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake! )
Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,[vii]
And then strike home!
8.
Tread those reviving passions down,[viii]
Unworthy manhood! --unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of Beauty be.
