Sun of the sleepless

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
How like art thou to joy remember'd well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;
A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,
Distinct, but distant—clear—but, oh how cold!

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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It is the hour

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard—
It is the hour—when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word—
And gentle winds and waters near
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met:
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue—
And in the Heaven, that clear obscure
So softly dark—and darkly pure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I saw thee weep

I
I saw thee weep—the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew—
I saw thee smile—the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays
That fill'd that glance of thine.

II
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky—
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be

I
Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
I need not have wander'd from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

II
If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free!
If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.

III
I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In his hand is my heart and my hope—and in thine
The land and the life which for him I resign.

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Oh! weep for those

I
Oh! Weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream,
Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell—
Mourn—where their God hath dwelt—the Godless dwell!

II
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?
And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice?

III
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest!
The wild-dove hath her nest—the fox his cave—
Mankind their Country—Israel but the grave!

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On Jordan's banks

I
On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep—
Yet there—even there—Oh God! thy thunders sleep.

II
There—where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone!
There—where thy Shadow to thy people shone!
Thy Glory shrouded in its garb of fire:—
Thyself—none living see and not expire!—

III
Oh! in the lightning—let thy glance appear;
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear!
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?
How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God?

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If that high world

I
If that high world, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving love endears;
If there the cherished heart be fond,
The eye the same—except in tears—
How welcome those untrodden spheres!
How sweet this very hour to die!
To soar from earth and find all fears
Lost in thy light—Eternity!

II
It must be so—'tis not for self
That we so tremble on the brink,
And striving to o'erleap the gulph,
Yet cling to Being's breaking link.
Oh! in that future let us think
To hold each heart the heart that shares;
With them the immortal waters drink,
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In the valley of waters

In the valley of waters we wept o'er the day
When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey,
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away.
The song they demanded in vain—it lay still
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill;
They call'd for the harp—but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hand shall teach them one tone of our skill.
All stringlessly hung on the willow's sad tree,
As dead as her dead leaf those mute harps must be;
Our hands may be fetter'd—our tears still are free,
For our God and our glory—and, Sion!—Oh, thee.

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Oh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom

I
Oh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom!
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year—
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom—

II
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause, and lightly tread,—
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

III
Away! we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress—
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou—who tell'st me to forget,

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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Thy days are done

I
Thy days are done—thy fame begun—
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son—
The slaughter of his sword—
The deeds he did—the fields he won—
The freedom he restored!

II
Though thou art fall'n—while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death—
The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath:
Within our veins its currents be—
Thy spirit on our breath!

III
Thy name—our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word—
Thy fall—the theme of choral song

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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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