File:A selection from the works of Lord Byron (1866) (14804404793).jpg

Identifier: selectionfromwor01byro (find matches)
Title: A selection from the works of Lord Byron
Year: 1866 (1860s)
Authors: Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, 1788-1824 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1837-1909
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Publisher: London, E. Moxon
Contributing Library: Duke University Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Duke University Libraries

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r in utter nakedness,Making the cold reality too real! A change came oer the spirit of my dream.The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,The beings which surrounded him were gone,Or were at war with him ; he was a markFor blight and desolation, compassd roundWith Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixdIn all which was served up to him, until,Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,He fed on poisons, and they had no power,But were a kind of nutriment; he lived THE DREAM. 6I Through that which had been death to many men, And made him friends of mountains: with the stars And the quick Spirit of the Universe He held his dialogues; and they did teach To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was opend wide, And voices from the deep abyss reveald A marvel and a secret—Be it so. My dream was past; it had no further change. It was of a strange order, that the doom Of these two creatures should be thus traced out Almost like a reality—the one To end in madness—both in misery.
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PROMETHEUS. Titan ! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality,Were not as things that gods despise;What was thy pitys recompense ?A silent suffering, and intense;The rock, the vulture, and the chain,All that the proud can feel of pain,The agony they do not show,The suffocating sense of woe, Which speaks but in its loneliness,And then is jealous lest the skyShould have a listener, nor will sigh Until its voice is echoless. Titan! to thee the strife was givenBetween the suffering and the will, PROMETHEUS. 63 Which torture where they cannot kill;And the inexorable Heaven,And the deaf tyranny of Fate,The ruling principle of Hate,Which for its pleasure doth createThe things it may annihilate,Refused thee even the boon to die :The wretched gift eternityWas thine—and thou hast borne it well.All that the Thunderer wrung from theeWas but the menace which flung backOn him the torments of thy rack;The fate thou didst so well foresee,But would not to appease

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