George Gordon Noel Byron

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?

The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn read more

The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn is cut, the manor full of game;
The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats
In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim;
Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.
An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.

Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.

Such is the aspect of this shore;
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, read more

Such is the aspect of this shore;
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.