Lord Byron (1788–1824). Poetry of Byron. 1881.
I. Personal, Lyric, and ElegiacOn this Day I complete my Thirty-sixth Year
’T
Since others it hath ceased to move;
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze— A funeral pile! The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain. Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Where glory decks the hero’s bier, Or binds his brow. Glory and Greece, around me see! The Spartan, borne upon his shield, Was not more free. Awake, my spirit! Think through whom Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, And then strike home! Unworthy manhood!—unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. The land of honourable death Is here:—up to the field, and give Away thy breath! A soldier’s grave, for thee the best; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest.