George Gordon Noel Byron

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
read more

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth is bounded,
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.

What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper:
Some read more

What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper:
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour:
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,
And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper,"
To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and
true religion.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and
true religion.

His speech was a fine sample, on the whole,
Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole."

His speech was a fine sample, on the whole,
Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole."