Byron Thread

[Anonymous No.23047686]

>Be /lit/fag.
>RESTART the Greeks.
I kneel.

[Anonymous No.23047689]

THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

The Scian and the Teian muse,
The hero’s harp, the lover’s lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse:
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires’ ‘Islands of the Blest’.

The mountains look on Marathon—
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dream’d that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians’ grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.

A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o’er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations;—all were his!
He counted them at break of day—
And when the sun set, where were they?

And where are they? and where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now—
The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?

’Tis something in the dearth of fame,
Though link’d among a fetter’d race,
To feel at least a patriot’s shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear.

Must we but weep o’er days more blest?
Must we but blush?—Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!

What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no;—the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent’s fall,
And answer, ‘Let one living head,
But one, arise,—we come, we come!’
’Tis but the living who are dumb.

In vain—in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio’s vine:
Hark! rising to the ignoble call—
How answers each bold Bacchanal!

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave—
Think ye he meant them for a slave?

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon’s song divine:
He served—but served Polycrates—
A tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.

The tyrant of the Chersonese
Was freedom’s best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades!
O that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!
Such chains as his were sure to bind.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli’s rock, and Parga’s shore,
Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.

[Anonymous No.23047710]

>>23047689
I have a lot of respect for him, putting his money where his mouth is so to speak, and going to die in Greece. But the average Greek didn't give a single fuck about their illustrious past and the Homeric verses yelled at them by the many English romanticists who went there to "lend a hand" seemed to them utterly ridiculous, as if an American politician today would suddenly quote Shakespeare at length

[Anonymous No.23047712]

>>23047689
>>23047689
God I love Byron. I simp.

[Anonymous No.23047715]

>>23047712
Same.

[Anonymous No.23047763]

One of my favorites of his short works:

I watched thee when the foe was at our side,
Ready to strike at him—or thee and me,
Were safety hopeless—rather than divide
Aught with one loved save love and liberty.

I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock
Received our prow, and all was storm and fear,
And bade thee cling to me through every shock;
This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,
Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground
When overworn with watching, ne’er to rise
From thence if thou an early grave hadst found.

The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall,
And men and nature reeled as if with wine.
Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?
For thee. Whose safety first provide for? Thine.

And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought,
To thee—to thee—e’en in the gasp of death
My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.

Thus much and more; and yet thou lov’st me not,
And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will.
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.

[Anonymous No.23047769]

>>23047686
Everyman’s Library is coming out with a book of his writings in the next 2 months and I shall get it. One of the most interesting literary figures

[Anonymous No.23047773]

A well-known poem, but deservedly so. Capturing the essence of a break-up and heartbreak:

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.

[Anonymous No.23047775]

>>23047686
>Lord Byron is only great as a poet; when he would reflect, he is a child.

>No man ever possessed inventive power to a greater degree than Lord Byron. His manner of loosing the dramatic knot always surpasses our expectations.

>Though his disposition was always leading him into the illimitable, yet the restraint of the three unities suited him very well. Had he known how to endure moral restraint as well! That he could not, was his ruin: he himself avows it.

>Lord Byron is to be regarded as a man, as an Englishman, and as a great genius. His good qualities belong to the man, his bad to the Englishman and the peer; his genius is incommensurable.
>All Englishmen are, as such, without reflection; distractions and party spirit will not permit them to unfold themselves in quiet. But they are great as practical men.
>But when he would create, he always succeeds; inspiration supplies the place of reflection. He never fails when he speaks out his own feelings as a man.
>His genius is great; he was born great; none has greater poetic power. But Shakespeare's individuality is superior.

[Anonymous No.23047778]

rollin for OP's death

[Anonymous No.23047789]

>Great poets transform themselves into each of the persons to be represented, and speak out of each of them like ventriloquists; now out of the hero, and immediately afterwards out of the young and innocent maiden, with equal truth and naturalness: so Shakspeare and Goethe. Poets of the second rank transform the principal person to be represented into themselves. This is what Byron does; and then the other persons often remain lifeless, as is the case even with the principal persons in the works of mediocre poets.

[Anonymous No.23047810]

>>23047686
I mean, yeah he's good, but he's not Milton good

[Anonymous No.23047823]

>>23047810
You should make a Milton thread. I don't mean that as a "get out of here" thing btw. More like a "the catalogue could do with some more decent fucking threads" kind of thing.

[Anonymous No.23047827]

Last year I went to London and saw a statue of Byron. Later I went to Rome, saw a statue of Byron. Soon I'm going to Athens, and I'll see a statue of Byron. What a legacy.

[Anonymous No.23047831]

This seems like a good place to mention I recently discovered this :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wbyrhWoBCRY
Pretty funny depiction of Lord Byron in Billie and Mandy. I have a feeling cartoons used to do more of this. Keep things light and funny but also introduce important historical or literary figures so at least children get the ultra-basics of what they were about. Similar to how lots of people were introduced to classical music through Tom and Jerry and Looney Tunes.

[Anonymous No.23047832]

>I loved a youth, but Horace did the same;
>If he's absolved, say, why am I to blame?
>When young Alexis claimed a Virgil's sigh,
>He told the world his choice, and may not I?
>Shall every schoolman's pen his verse extol,
>And, sin in me, in him a weakness call?
>Then why was Socrates surnamed the sage,
>Not only in his own, but every age,
>If lips, whose accents strewed the path of truth,
>Could print their kisses on some favoured youth?
>Or why should Plato, in his Commonwealth
>Score tenets up which I must note by stealth?
>Say, why, when great Epaminondas died,
>Was Cephidorus buried by his side?
extract from 'Don Leon', c. 1823

poem attributed to Byron but written after his death, possibly by a friend of his

[Anonymous No.23047838]

>>23047831
Im convinced that anyone that memorizes and internalizes the odes of anacreon would instantly transform into a cool billy type figure.

[Anonymous No.23047844]

>>23047832
>Or why should Plato, in his Commonwealth
>Score tenets up which I must note by stealth?
Byron wasn't a brainlet so he wouldn't have forgotten Laws Bk. VIII
Because those tenets are not ones to note by stealth, not in his time.

[Anonymous No.23047847]

>>23047831
As a European I learned a lot of American history from cartoons. From the tunes of patriotic songs to the Declaration of Independence, "Honest Abe", George Washington and the cherry-tree, etc. I remember learning about Thomas Edison through Time Squad, a Cartoon Network show about time travel. I wonder if kids nowadays have similar stuff, but I doubt it.

[Anonymous No.23047868]

He was 19 when he wrote this: Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee:
I died: let earth my bones resign;
Fill up—thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape,
Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood;
And circle in the goblet's shape
The drink of Gods, than reptiles' food.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst—another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Why not? since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.

[Anonymous No.23048913]

>>23047715
Same, I am glad /lit/ is finally showing some appreciation for his works

[Anonymous No.23050322]

bump

[Anonymous No.23050966]

River, that rollest by the ancient walls,
Where dwells the Lady of my love, when she
Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls
A faint and fleeting memory of me:

What if thy deep and ample stream should be
A mirror of my heart, where she may read
The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee,
Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed!

What do I say a mirror of my heart?
Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong?
Such as my feelings were and are, thou art;
And such as thou art were my passions long.

Time may have somewhat tamed them, not for ever
Thou overflow’st thy banks, and not for aye
Thy bosom overboils, congenial river!
Thy floods subside, and mine have sunk away:

But left long wrecks behind, and now again,
Borne in our old unchanged career, we move:
Thou tendest wildly onwards to the main,
And I to loving one I should not love.

The current I behold will sweep beneath
Her native walls, and murmur at her feet;
Her eyes will look on thee, when she shall breathe
The twilight air, unharmed by summer’s heat.

She will look on thee, I have looked on thee,
Full of that thought: and, from that moment, ne’er
Thy waters could I dream of, name, or see,
Without the inseparable sigh for her!

Her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream,
Yes! they will meet the wave I gaze on now:
Mine cannot witness, even in a dream,
That happy wave repass me in its flow!

The wave that bears my tears returns no more:
Will she return by whom that wave shall sweep?
Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore,
I by thy source, she by the dark-blue deep.

But that which keepeth us apart is not
Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth,
But the distraction of a various lot,
As various as the climates of our birth.

A stranger loves the Lady of the land;
Born far beyond the mountains, but his blood
Is all meridian, as if never fanned
By the black wind that chills the polar flood.

My blood is all meridian; were it not
I had not left my clime, nor should I be,
In spite of tortures, ne’er to be forgot
A slave again of love, at least of thee.

‘Tis vain to struggle let me perish young
Live as I lived, and love as I have loved;
To dust if I return, from dust I sprung,
And then, at least, my heart can ne’er be moved.

[Anonymous No.23051315]

>byron thread
>passed over for the marcus aurelius cuckold thread and eclipsed 3 fold by the daily epicurus trilemma post.
It's so over.

[Anonymous No.23051855]

>>23051315
It really is. You know what we do about it? We keep talking Byron! Anyone got an excerpt from that poem he wrote about a chapel (or maybe it was a cathedral) that was made into a barracks? Thats one of my favorites but I don't have my copy with me at the hotel. Maybe I'll post some of it later if the thread is still up.

[Anonymous No.23052047]

Can you guys recc me some novels with a "Byronic Hero" besides this guys biography.

[Anonymous No.23052051]

>>23047686
Reminder that this fag got fucked in the ass by Ali Pasha of Tepelena.

[Anonymous No.23052123]

>>23047868
>Live love laugh
>Perchance

[Anonymous No.23052187]

>>23047686
I want to read his plays, but I can't find a decent modern anthology.

[Anonymous No.23053282]

>>23052047
Don Juan?

[Anonymous No.23053285]

Childe Harold kinda sucked ass

[Anonymous No.23053567]

I liked 'Darkness' but that's it

[Anonymous No.23053632]

Never looked into Byron or his work but some of these poems are really great

Where should I start with him?

[Anonymous No.23054639]

Don't die on me!