<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116049" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was, and is not! Graecia's trembling shore,<br>Sighing through all her palmy groves, shall tell<br>That Harold's pilgrimage at last is o'er—<br>Mute the impassioned tongue, and tuneful shell,<br>That erst was wont in noblest strains to swell—<br>Hush'd the proud shouts that rode Aegaea's wave!<br>For lo! the great Deliv'rer breathes farewell!<br>Gives to the world his mem'ry and a grave—<br>Expiring in the land he only lived to save!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mourn, Hellas, mourn! and o'er thy widow'd brow,<br>For aye, the cypress wreath of sorrow twine;<br>And in thy new-form'd beauty, desolate, throw<br>The fresh-cull'd flowers on his sepulchral shrine.<br>Yes! let that heart whose fervour was all thine,<br>In consecrated urn lamented be!<br>That generous heart where genius thrill'd divine,<br>Hath spent its last most glorious throb for thee—<br>Then sank amid the storm that made thy children free!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Britannia's Poet! Graecia's hero, sleeps!<br>And Freedom, bending o'er the breathless clay,<br>Lifts up her voice, and in her anguish weeps!<br>For us, a night hath clouded o'er our day,<br>And hush'd the lips that breath'd our fairest lay.<br>Alas! and must the British lyre resound<br>A requiem, while the spirit wings away<br>Of him who on its strings such music found,<br>And taught its startling chords to give so sweet a sound!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The theme grows sadder — but my soul shall find<br>A language in those tears! No more — no more!<br>Soon, 'midst the shriekings of the tossing wind,<br>The "dark blue depths" he sang of, shall have bore<br>Our all of Byron to his native shore!<br>His grave is thick with voices — to the ear<br>Murm'ring an awful tale of greatness o'er;<br>But Memory strives with Death, and lingering near,<br>Shall consecrate the dust of Harold's lonely bier!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Barrett+Browning">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116049" data-title="Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron de Elizabeth Barrett Browning" data-description="He was, and is not! Graecia's trembling shore,/Sighing through all her palmy groves, shall tell/That Harold's pilgrimage at last is o'er—/Mute the impassioned tongue, and tuneful shell,/That erst was wont in noblest strains to swell—/Hush'd th..."></div> </div> </div>

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