. A selection from the works of Lord Byron. N GULF. 5 Long life to the grape ! for when summer is flown,The age of our nectar shall gladden our own :We must die—who shall not?—May our sins be for-given,And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THEAMBRACIAN GULF. Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,Full beams the moon on Actiums coast: And on these waves, for Egypts queen,The ancient world was won and lost. And now upon the scene I look,The azure grave of many a Roman; Where stern Ambition once forsookHis wavering crown to follow woman. Florence ! whom I will love
. A selection from the works of Lord Byron. N GULF. 5 Long life to the grape ! for when summer is flown,The age of our nectar shall gladden our own :We must die—who shall not?—May our sins be for-given,And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THEAMBRACIAN GULF. Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,Full beams the moon on Actiums coast: And on these waves, for Egypts queen,The ancient world was won and lost. And now upon the scene I look,The azure grave of many a Roman; Where stern Ambition once forsookHis wavering crown to follow woman. Florence ! whom I will love as well As ever yet was said or sung(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell), Whilst thou art fair and I am young; THE AMBRACIAN GULF Sweet Florence ! those were pleasant times,When worlds were staked for ladies eyes : Had bards as many realms as rhymes,Thy charms might raise new Antonies. Though Fate forbids such things to be,Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curld ! I cannot lose a world for thee, But would not lose thee for a AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNGAND FAIR. Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse ! And thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth ;And form so soft, and charms so rare, Too soon returnd to Earth !Though Earth received them in her bed,And oer the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness or mirth,There is an eye which could not brookA 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: AND THOU ART DEAD, 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. Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou,Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter love where Death has set his seal,Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow:And, what were worse, thou canst not
Size: 2485px × 1005px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1866
