5 No more to chiefs and ladies bright The chord alone that breaks at night, Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks, 10 15 20 GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD BYRON Childe Harold's Farewell to England Adieu, adieu! my native shore The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, A few short hours and he will rise And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. 37 5 10 15 CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; "Come hither, hither, my little page! Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong; Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along." "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind: Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friends, save thee alone, "My father blessed me fervently, If I thy guileless bosom had, The Night before Waterloo There was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, 10 And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 20 Arm! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar ! Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, THE NIGHT BEFORE WATERLOO 39 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, Battle's magnificently stern array! the day The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent HENRY FRANCIS LYTE ENGLAND, 1793-1847 Abide with Me Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide; 5 Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see; O Thou who changest not, abide with me. I need Thy presence every passing hour; 10 What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power? Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless: Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. 15 Where is Death's sting? Where, Grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes, |