Ali reclined, a man of war and woes: 

Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace,

While Gentleness her milder radiance throws

Along that aged venerable face, 

The deeds that lurk beneath. 

And stain him with disgrace.

- Childe Harold’s Pilgrimmage

In him inexplicably mix’d appear’d—

Much to be loved and hated, sought and fear’d;—

Opinion varying o’er his hidden lot,—

In praise or railing ne’er his name forgot;—

His silence form’d a theme for others’ prate —

They guess’d — they gazed — they fain would know his fate…

He stood a stranger in this breathing world,—

An erring spirit from another hurled;—

A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped—

By choice the perils he by chance escaped…

His madness was not of the head, but heart…

 - Lara

 Farewell to the Land where the gloom of my Glory

Arose and o’ershadow’d the earth with her name--

She abandons me now--but the page of her story, 

The brightest or blackest, is fill’d with my fame.

I have warr’d with a world which vanquish’d me only

When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;

I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely, 

The last single Captive to millions in war.

Parewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown’d me, 

I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,

But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,

Decay’d in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.

Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted

In strife with the storm, when their battles were won--

Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,

Had still soar’d with eyes fix’d on victory’s sun!

Farewelll to thee, France!--but when Liberty rallies

Once more in thy regions, remember me then,--

The violet still grows in the depth of hty valleys;

Though wither’d, thy tear will unfold it again--

Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, 

And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice--

There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us, 

Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

I would to heaven 

that I were so much clay, 

As I am blood, 

bone, 

marrow, 

passion, 

feeling—

Because at least the past 

were passed away—

And for the future—

(but I write this reeling,

Having got drunk 

exceedingly today,

So that I seem to stand 

upon the ceiling)

I say—

the future is a serious matter—

And so—

for God’s sake—

hock and soda water!

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meets in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellow’d to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 

Had half impair’d the nameless grace 

Which waves in every raven tress 

Or softly lightens o’er her face,

Where thoughts serenely sweet express 

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek and o’er that brow 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,— 

A mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent..

ETERNAL SPIRIT OF THE CHAINLESS MIND!

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! tou art,

For there thy habitation is the heart—

The heart which love of thee alone can bind;

And when thy sons to fetters are consign’d—

To fetters, and the damp vault’s dayless gloom,

Their country conquers with their martyrdom,

And Freedom’s fame finds wings on every wind.

Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,

And thy sad floor an altar—for ‘twas trod,

Until his very steps have left a trace

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod,

By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface!

For they appeal from tyranny to God.

Farewell! 

A word that must be, and hath been—

A sound which makes us learn;—yet—farewell!

Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene

Which is his last, if in your memories dwell

A thought which once was his, if on ye swell

A single recollection, not in vain

He wore his sandal-shoon and scallopshell;

Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain,

If such there were—with you, the moral of his strain.

- Childe Harold’s Pilgrimmage