George Gordon Noel Byron

Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto
Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.

Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto
Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.

As good as a play.

As good as a play.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.

In friendship I early was taught to believe;
. . . .
I have found that a read more

In friendship I early was taught to believe;
. . . .
I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive.

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
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The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need
Of aid from them--she was the Universe.