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"OH! IN THAT FUTURE LET US THINK TO HOLD EACH HEART THE HEART THAT SHARES ;-BYRON)

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TO DREAM OF JOY, AND WAKE TO SORROW,-(BYRON)

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON.

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IS DOOMED TO ALL WHO LOVE OR LIVE."-LORD BYRON.

WITH THEM THE IMMORTAL WATERS DRINK, AND SOUL IN SOUL GROW DEATHLESS THEIRS!"-BYRON.

TAKES AWAY,-(BYRON)

"THERE'S NOT A GLOW THE WORLD CAN GIVE LIKE THAT IT

"THE ABSENT ARE THE DEAD, FOR THEY ARE COLD,-(BYRON)

A BROTHER'S DEATH.

With all the while a cheek whose

bloom

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,
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
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 listened, but I could not hear;

I called, for I was wild with fear;
I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread
Would not be thus admonished;

I called, and thought I heard a sound-
I burst my chain with one strong bound,
And rushed to him:-I found him not,

I only stirred in this black spot,

I only lived, I only drew

The accursed breath of dungeon dew;
The last, the sole, the dearest link
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:

I took that hand which lay so still,
Alas! my own was full as chill;

"

AND NE'ER CAN BE WHAT ONCE WE DID BEHOLD. -BYRON.

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WHEN THE GLOW OF EARLY THOUGHT DECLINES IN FEELING'S DULL DECAY."-LORD BYRON.

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"WHO HATH NOT SHARED THAT CALM SO STILL AND DEEP, THE VOICELESS THOUGHT WHICH WOULD NOT SPEAK BUT WEEP,

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[From "The Prisoner of Chillon.' After reading this strain of simple and unexaggerated pathos, we feel that there were deeps in Byron's worldencrusted nature, on which he drew too seldom. O! si sic omnia.]

A LAMENT.

|ND thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;

And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon returned to Earth!
Though Earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,

There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;

There flowers or weeds at will may grow,

So I behold them not:

It is enough for me to prove

That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot:

To me there needs no stone to tell,
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.

OF CONSCIOUSNESS AWAKING TO HER WOES."--BYRON.

A HOLY CONCORD AND A BRIGHT REGRET, A GLORIOUS SYMPATHY WITH SUNS THAT SET!"-George GorDON, LORD BYRON.

"WHERE'ER WE TREAD, 'TIS HAUNTED,

HOLY GROUND; NO EARTH OF THINE IS LOST IN VULGAR MOULD,-(BYRON)

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"YES, THIS WAS ONCE AMBITION'S AIRY HALL,- LORD BYRON)

THE

A LAMENT.

Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,

Who, didst not change through all the past,

And canst not alter now,

The love where Death has set his seal,

Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:

And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in mẹ.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine:

The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,

Shall never more be thine.

The silence of that dreamless sleep

I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine,

That all those charms have passed away;
I might have watched through long decay.

The flower in ripened bloom unmatched

Must fall the earliest prey;

Though by no hand untimely snatched,

The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it plucked to-day;

Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;

The night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:

DOME OF THought, the PALACE OF THE SOUL."-BYRON.

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BUT ONE VAST REALM OF WONDER SPREADS AROUND, AND ALL THE MUSE'S TALES SEEM TRULY TOLD."-Byron.

WHAT STAMPS THE WRINKLE DEEPER ON THE BROW?

"WHAT IS THE WORST OF WOES THAT WAIT ON AGE?

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HOW SELFISH SORROW PONDERS ON THE PAST,-LORD BYRON)

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON.

Thy day without a cloud hath passed,
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguished, not decayed;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,

To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;

To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free

The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity

Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears

Than aught except its living years,

[From the "Occasional Pieces." It is difficult to believe that the author
of this pathetic and earnest strain was also the author of the bombast and
turgidity which characterize so much of "Childe Harold" and the "Oriental
Tales."
Well may Mr. F. T. Palgrave call it "a masterly example of
Byron's command of strong thought and close reasoning in verse." There
were surely two Byrons: on who wrote from his inner self, with infinite
pathos, truth, and feeling; the other, who wrote from his vanity and his
intellect, with an evident straining and want of reality.]

AND CLINGS TO THOUGHTS NOW BETTER FAR REMOVED!"-BYRON.

TO VIEW EACH LOVED ONE BLOTTED FROM LIFE'S PAGE, AND BE ALONE ON EARTH AS I AM NOW."-BYRON.

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