Lord Byron's Armenian Exercises and Poetry

[KanadaHye]

Byron lived in Italy, spending time in Venice, Rome, Pisa, and Genoa, from 1816 to 1823. He became romantically involved with Contessa Guiccioli, who left her husband for him. Lord Byron continued to publish poetry, focusing much of his attention on a second epic work, Don Juan. He also became interested in the culture of the Armenians he encountered on the Venetian island of Saint Lazarus, publishing books on Armenian grammar, an Armenian-English dictionary, and translations from Armenian.

Lord Byron moved to Greece to participate in the fight for independence from the Ottomans in 1823. He invested a large amount of his own money in the Greek troops and planned to command part of a military expedition, but became ill before it began. On 19 April 1824, Lord Byron died of fever. His poetry remains among the best loved in the English language, and he is fondly remembered as a hero by the Greeks.


http://www.archive.org/stream/lordby...ge/n5/mode/2up

Oh, the full digital copy is available at the link above because it has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired.

Public domain books are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

[KanadaHye]

Re: Lord Byron's Armenian Exercises and Poetry

To Time

Time! on whose arbitrary wing

The varying hours must flag or fly,

Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,

But drag or drive us on to die ---


Hail thou ! who on my birth bestow'd

Those boons to all that know thee known;

Yet better I sustain thy load,

For now I bear the weight alone.


I would not one fond heart should share

The bitter moments thou hast given;

And pardon thee, since thou could'st spare

All that I loved, to peace or heaven.


To them be joy or rest, on me

Thy future ills shall press in vain;

I nothing owe but years to thee,

A debt already paid in pain.


Yet even that pain was some relief,

It felt, but still forgot thy power:

The active agony of grief

Retards, but never counts the hour.


In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight

Would soon subside from swift to slow;

Thy cloud could overcast the light,

But could not add a night to woe;


For then, however drear and dark,

My soul was suited to thy sky;

One star alone shot forth a spark

To prove thee --- not Eternity.


That beam hath sunk, and now thou art

A blank; a thing to count and curse,

Through each dull tedious trifling part,

Which all regret, yet all rehearse.


One scene even thou canst not deform;

The limit of thy sloth or speed

When future wanderers bear the storm

Which we shall sleep too sound to heed:


And I can smile to think how weak

Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,

When all the vengeance thou canst wreak

Must fall upon --- a nameless stone.

[Alexandros]

Re: Lord Byron's Armenian Exercises and Poetry

Yes, Lord Byron is a Hero for us Greeks.

Just one small correction though - Lord Byron died 1824 and not 1924.



Lord Byron

[KanadaHye]

Re: Lord Byron's Armenian Exercises and Poetry

Just one small correction though - Lord Byron died 1824 and not 1924.

Lord Byron

Yeah, it wouldn't make sense for him to have lived that long

[KanadaHye]

Re: Lord Byron's Armenian Exercises and Poetry

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY

Cousin to the Author, and very dear to him.


Hush'd are the winds, and still the
evening gloom,

Not e'en a zephyr wanders through
the grove,

Whilst I return, to view my Mar-
garet's tomb.

And scatter flowers on the dust I
love.

Within this narrow cell reclines her
clay.

That clay, where once such anima-
tion beam' d ;

*The author claims the indulgence of the reader for this piece, as it was written at the age of fourteen.


The King of Terrors seized her as
his prey,

Not worth nor beauty have her life
redeem'd,

Oh! could that King of Terrors pity
feel,

Or Heaven reverse the dread de-
crees of fate,

Not here the mourner would his
grief reveal.

Not here the muse her virtues would
relate.

But wherefore weep ? Her matchless
spirit soars

Beyond where splendid shines the
orb of day;

And weeping angels lead her to
those bowers

Where endless pleasures virtue's
deeds repay.

And shall presumptuous mortals
Heaven arraign,

And, madly, godlike Providence ac-
cuse?

Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so
vain; —

I '11 ne'er submission to my God re-
fuse.

Yet is remembrance of those virtues
dear,

Yet fresh the memory of that beau-
teous face;

Still they call forth my warm af-
fection's tear,

Still in my heart retain their wont-
ed place.

[Mos]

Re: Lord Byron's Armenian Exercises and Poetry

I love Lord Byron, great man, great intellectual