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Lord Byron (George Gordon) was born in London in January 1788. He published his first poems at tthe age of 19, at 21 started travelling, at 28 left England forever. He died during Greek Independence war in 1824. Most of his work was done during his journeys (1816-24). His most famoous works include Manfred, Cain and Childe Harold. |
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And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat Down and Wept Darkness Dear Doctor, I Have Read Your Play The Destruction of Sennacherib Don Juan: Dedication Fare Thee Well Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept I Would I Were a Careless Child Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog John Keats Lachin Y Gair Lara: Canto The First (Excerpt) Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull Lines to Mr. Hodgson Written on Board the Lisbon Packet Manfred My Soul is Dark Oh! Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom On This Day I Complete My Thirty-sixth Year Prometheus Remember Thee! Remember Thee! The Eve of Waterloo She walks in Beauty There be None of Beauty's Daughters We'll go no more a-roving When we Two parted Epistle To Augusta Churchill's Grave A Spirit Passed Before Me On Chillon Stanzas For Music |
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o'er the mast. From aloft the signal's streaming, Hark! the farewell gun is fir'd; Women screeching, tars blaspheming, Tell us that our time's expir'd. Here's a rascal Come to task all, Prying from the custom-house; Trunks unpacking Cases cracking, Not a corner for a mouse 'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket, Ere we sail on board the Packet. Now our boatmen quit their mooring, And all hands must ply the oar; Baggage from the quay is lowering, We're impatient--push from shore. "Have a care! that case holds liquor-- Stop the boat--I'm sick--oh Lord!" "Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker, Ere you've been an hour on board." Thus are screaming Men and women, Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks; Here entangling, All are wrangling, Stuck together close as wax.-- Such the genial noise and racket, Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet. Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain, Gallant Kidd, commands the crew; Passengers their berths are clapt in, Some to grumble, some to spew. "Hey day! call you that a cabin? Why 't is hardly three feet square; Not enough to stow Queen Mab in-- Who the deuce can harbour there?" "Who, sir? plenty-- Nobles twenty Did at once my vessel fill." "Did they? Jesus, How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still: Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet." Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you? Stretch'd along the deck like logs-- Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you! Here's a rope's end for the dogs. Hobhouse muttering fearful curses, As the hatchway down he rolls, Now his breakfast, now his verses, Vomits forth--and damns our souls. "Here's a stanza On Braganza-- Help!"--"A couplet?"--"No, a cup Of warm water--" "What's the matter?" "Zounds! my liver's coming up; I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet." Now at length we're off for Turkey, Lord knows when we shall come back! Breezes foul and tempests murky May unship us in a crack. But, since life at most a jest is, As philosophers allow, Still to laugh by far the best is, Then laugh on--as I do now. Laugh at all things, Great and small things, Sick or well, at sea or shore; While we're quaffing, Let's have laughing-- Who the devil cares for more?-- Some good wine! and who would lack it, Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet? |