We sate down and wept by the waters of Babel
I
We sate down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.
II
While sadly we gazed on the river
Which roll'd on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
III
On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Wild Gazelle
I
The wild Gazelle on Judah's hills
Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills
That gush on holy ground—
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by—
II
A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair,
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
III
More blest each palm that shades those plains
Than Israel's scattered race;
For taking root it there remains
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
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The harp the Monarch Minstrel swept
I
The harp the Monarch Minstrel swept,
The King of men, the lov'd of Heav'n,
Which Music hallowed while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had giv'n,
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riv'n!
It soften'd men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not—fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!
II
It told the triumphs of our King—
It wafted glory to our God—
It made our gladdened vallies ring—
The cedars bow—the mountains nod—
Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode!
Since then—though heard on earth no more—
Devotion and her daughter Love
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
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Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine
(All is vanity, saith the preacher)
I
Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets blush'd from every vine,
And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.
II
I strive to number o'er what days
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour
Of pleasure unembitter'd:
And not a trapping deck'd my power
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
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Herod's Lament for Mariamne
I
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
The heart of which thou bled'st is bleeding;
Revenge is lost in agony,
And wild remorse to rage succeeding.
Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?
Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:
Ah! could'st thou—thou would'st pardon now,
Though heaven were to my prayer unheeding.
II
And is she dead?—and did they dare
Obey my phrensy's jealous raving?
My wrath but doom'd my own despair:
The sword that smote her's o'er me waving.—
But thou art cold, my murdered love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving
For her who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
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Bright be the place of thy soul
I
Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.
When we know that thy God is with thee.
Bright be the place of thy soul,
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
II
Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be!
There should not be the shadow of gloom,
In ought that reminds us of thee.
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
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I speak not — I trace not — I breathe not
I speak not—I trace not—I breathe not thy name,
There is grief in the sound, there were guilt in the fame;
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours, can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent—we abjure—we will break from our chain,
We will part—we will fly—to unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me adored one—forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which I bear shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it—whatever thou may'st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
My soul, in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift—and our moments more sweet
With thee by my side—than the world at our feet.
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
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From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome
(On the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus)
I
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,
I beheld thee, Oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:
'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall
Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
II
I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home,
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;
I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain.
III
Oh many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
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When coldness wraps this suffering clay
I
When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?
It cannot die, it cannot stay,
But leaves its darken'd dust behind.
Then, unembodied, doth it trace
By steps each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?
II
Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth or skies display'd,
Shall it survey, shall it recal:
Each fainter trace that memory holds
So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.
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poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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