George Gordon Noel Byron

Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred read more

Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!

Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.

Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.

As soon
Seek roses in December--ice in June,
Hope, constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
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As soon
Seek roses in December--ice in June,
Hope, constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics.

What want these outlaws conquerors should have
But History's purchased page to call them great?

What want these outlaws conquerors should have
But History's purchased page to call them great?

Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.

Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.