George Gordon Noel Byron

I can't but say it is an awkward sight
To see one's native land receding through
The read more

I can't but say it is an awkward sight
To see one's native land receding through
The growing waters; it unmans one quite,
Especially when life is rather new.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear read more

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear her danger; opens a new world
When this, the present, palls.

"Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"
As some one somewhere sings about the sky.

"Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"
As some one somewhere sings about the sky.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone--glimmering read more

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were;
First in the race that led to glory's goal,
They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?