Lord Byron

W. P. B., "Translation of a Greek Ode on Lord Byron" Morning Post (23 July 1824).

Now heard no more is glorious Triumph's voice,
Nought, but plaints and woe through Grecia's host;
Whilst all around th' insulting foe rejoice,
And taunt our misery with their cruel boast.

He came a friend of Greece; but scarcely came
Ere Fate relentless cut his vital thread,
Dead are the hopes which led us on to fame,
Dead is our glory, BYRON'S self is dead!

He came, he filled us with the fire of old,
He urged us on 'gainst the barbarian foe;—
How is our brave deliverer silent, cold!
Death, Death has laid our new TYRTAEUS low.

Thou wert a tree, which on Parnassus' brow
Flourish'd, the glory and the pride of all;
But ah! an envious blast has struck thee now,
Thy beauteous honours prematurely fall.

O Greece, should his paternal land desire
With its own tears his early tomb to lave,
Tell them, O tell them, Mother of the Lyre,
That Helicon is BYRON'S fittest grave.

Closing his ears to the soft tales of love,
The alluring calls of pleasure he supprest,
He came a hero's glorious toils to prove,
Oh let him in the land of heroes rest.