The poetical works of lord Byron, Volume 2

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Page 287 - Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery If inscribed over human ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of BOATSWAIN, a Dog, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.
Page 282 - If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? — With silence and tears.
Page 39 - 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 Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er can'st know again: Would that breast by thee glanc'd over, Every inmost thought could show!
Page 408 - The sword, the banner, and the field, Glory and Greece, around me see! The Spartan, borne upon his shield, Was not more free. Awake! (not Greece — she is awake!) Awake, my spirit! Think through whom Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake. And then strike home!
Page 288 - But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: While man, vain insect!
Page 70 - That in the antique Oratory shook His bosom in its solitude ; and then — As in that hour— a moment o'er his face The tablet of unutterable thoughts Was traced...
Page 368 - Titan ! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despise, What was thy pity's recompense? A silent suffering, and intense ; The rock, the vulture, and the chain, All that the proud can feel of pain...
Page 32 - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord...
Page 46 - Though the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but in thee.
Page 324 - Ay, but to die, and go," alas ! Where all have gone, and all must go ! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe ! — Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, 'Tis something better not to be.

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