George Gordon Noel Byron

Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.

Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted--they have torn me--and I bleed!
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The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted--they have torn me--and I bleed!
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There were his young barbarians all at play
There was their Dacian mother--he, their sire,
Butcher'd to read more

There were his young barbarians all at play
There was their Dacian mother--he, their sire,
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah hath triumphed--his people are free.
- Lord read more

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah hath triumphed--his people are free.
- Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron),

The languages, especially the dead,
The sciences, and most of all the abstruse,
The arts, at least read more

The languages, especially the dead,
The sciences, and most of all the abstruse,
The arts, at least all such as could be said
To be the most remote from common use,
In all these he was much and deeply read.