"Sydney's" Letter to the King: And Other Correspondence, Connected with the Reported Exclusion of Lord Byron's Monument from Westminster Abbey

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J. Cawthorn, 1828 - 56 strán (strany)
 

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Strana 26 - 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 ! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle ; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile ! The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain.
Strana 27 - Tread those reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood! — unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. If thou regret'st thy youth, why live? The land of honourable death Is here: — up to the field, and give Away thy breath! Seek out — less often sought than found — A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around and choose thy ground, And take thy rest.
Strana 40 - Half dust, half deity, alike unfit To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will Till our mortality predominates, And men are — what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other.
Strana 12 - The charging cheer, Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear. And place our trophies where men kneel To Heaven! — but Heaven rebukes my zeal! The cause of Truth and human weal, O God above! Transfer it from the sword's appeal To Peace and Love.
Strana 46 - But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind — And is he dead, whose glorious mind ' Lifts thine on high ? — To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die.
Strana 26 - The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle ; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain. But 'tis not thus — and 'tis not here — Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Where glory decks the hero's bier, Or binds his brow.
Strana 47 - As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth, And they have only taught him what we know — That knowledge is not happiness, and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance.
Strana 40 - My mother Earth! And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye. And thou, the bright eye of the universe, That openest over all, and unto all Art a delight— thou shin'st not on my heart.
Strana 25 - Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move : Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! 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...

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