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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.

"THERE'S NOT A GLOW THE WORLD CAN GIVE LIKE THAT IT TAKES AWAY,-(BYRON)

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'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;

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

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

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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.]

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

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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)

YES,

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

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

"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: one, 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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