George Gordon Noel Byron

A thirst for gold,
The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm
The meanest hearts.

A thirst for gold,
The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm
The meanest hearts.

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures;
And all are to be sold, if you consider
Their passions, and read more

'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures;
And all are to be sold, if you consider
Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by features
Are brought up, others by a warlike leader;
Some by a place--as tend their years or natures;
The most by ready cash--but all have prices,
From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.

I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The read more

The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,
And, oh! the eye was in itself a Soul!