Lord Byron Quotes on Byron
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1812-1818)
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I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
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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.
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In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
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And a firm will, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry Its own concenter'd recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy
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As the liberty lads o'er the sea Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, So we, boys, we Shall die fighting or live free, And down with all kings but King Ludd!
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Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate: And, whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate.
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Were't the last drop in the well, As I gasp'd upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell 'T is to thee that I would drink.
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'Bring forth the horse!' - the horse was brought; In truth, he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Who look'd as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs.
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The world is rid of Lord Byron, but the deadly slime of his touch still remains.
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Lord Byron makes man after his own image, woman after his own heart; the one is a capricious tyrant, the other a yielding slave.
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Whatever he does, he must do in a more decided and daring manner than any one else; he lounges with extravagance, and yawns so as to alarm the reader!
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Our Lord Byron - the fascinating - faulty - childish - philosophical being - daring the world - docile to a private circle - impetuous and indolent - gloomy and yet more gay than any other.
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It still saddens me that Lord Byron, who showed such impatience with the fickle public, wasn't aware of how well the Germans can understand him and how highly they esteem him. With us the moral and political tittle-tattle of the day falls away, leaving the man and the talent standing alone in all their brilliance.
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I never heard a single expression of fondness for him fall from the lips of any of those who knew him well.
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Lord Byron is great only as a poet; as soon as he reflects, he is a child.
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From the poetry of Lord Byron they drew a system of ethics, compounded of misanthropy and voluptuousness, a system in which the two great commandments were, to hate your neighbour, and to love your neighbour's wife.