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This is the last poem Byron wrote, on 22 January 1824.

He had arrived at
Missolonghi three weeks earlier, taking command of his army of liberation
which would free Greece from the Turks. But he died of fever on 19 April, after
railing against incompetent doctors who literally bled him to death. ON THIS
DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR
George Gordon (Lord) Byron (17881824)
ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTYSIXTH YEAR
' IS time the heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze-A funeral pile.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 'tis not thus--and 'tis not here-Such thoughts should shake my soul nor
now,
Where glory decks the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.
The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.

Awake! (not Greece--she is awake!)


Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home!
Tread those reviving passions down,
Unworthy manhood!--unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.
If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here:--up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out--less often sought than found-A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.

Byron had a train wrecked marriage, and a whole skew of lovers and
interests, that left him hollow. Where we pick up, Byron has sought out
battle in Greece as a means to mask his general confusion about love and
all the emotions that accompany it. He has seemed to reach a dead end
with his short-lived love affairs, and is wrought with the realization that
he will never find a true love. This is made evident by lines three and
four: Yet though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love. He is aware of
his looming death, my days are in the yellow leaf, and is filled with
sadness at that though of passing alone. So much of Byrons work is
emotion over logic, and a whole line in this poem is solely dedicated to
emotions: the hope, the fear, the jealous care. These emotions are
means to his end, but also give him hope in a glorious death. After
spending the first half of the poem mourning for himself and his lost
chance at true love, Byron recuperates in the second half. It is here that
he gets emotionally caught up in the war related glory of the Greek men
he is fighting with, and he becomes infatuated with the idea of dying an
honorable death in battle: awake my spirit. By the end of the poem
Byron has fully accepted, and is even excited about, death: seek out-less
often sought than found, Soldiers Grave-for thee best. This shows the
Byron has fully embraced emotion over logic, because the logical brain
does not desire death at the age of thirty-six. Byron runs to it with open
arms, replacing his longing for love with the desire to be honored in his
passing.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY
HE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,


So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

We know that appearances are going to be important in "She Walks in Beauty" from line
1 after all, the fourth word of the poem is "beauty." The entire poem is one long
description of a woman's beauty. How many different ways can the poet come up with to
say, "she is so gorgeous"? Quite a few, as it turns out. But not all of them are
conventional, so watch out.
We're talking about the unnamed lady's principles here, not the speaker's. We're
guessing partly based on the poem itself, and partly based on Byron's reputation
that, given the opportunity, he'd happily seduce her. But this particular woman would
have none of that. We're told repeatedly that she's pure and innocent, and that's part of
why she's so gorgeous.
She Walks in Beauty" is completely focused on one woman. But, as you may have
noticed, the woman doesn't ever get to speak for herself. Instead, she is totally
objectified by the speaker. He actually breaks down her appearance and focuses on
different parts of her, from her hair, eyes, and skin to the way she walks. He even says
he can guess what she's thinking based on her "smiles" and her blushes!
Because of the way the unnamed woman in "She Walks in Beauty" is described, the
speaker almost seems to be worshipping her. He idolizes her beauty and compares it to
things that are so vast and universal that her beauty seems almost supernatural.
WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING
O, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
The speaker opens with some anaphora repeating the same structure to begin each line. The
word "rove" means "wander" or "roam." The speaker is saying that it's time stop wandering
around aimlessly late into the night. Byron wrote this poem when he was 29, and even at that
very young age he felt that he was getting old. He could be saying that the time for play is over,
and that he must prepare for old age and death.

Though the heart be still as loving,


And the moon be still as bright.
The speaker says they'll go no more a roving, even though the moon is still as bright, and the
heart is "still as loving." The point is that even though the heart is very much alive, very much
emotionally ready to go rove ("loving"), and even though the moon is still really bright (meaning
they can wander around and still be able to see), it's time to stop. Why stop roving when the
heart still wants to, and the bright moon is very inviting? Probably because there comes a time
when you have to stop wandering and messing around. This is a way of saying one must stop
messing around and playing and grow up. It also, very subtly, is a way of alluding to the
approach of death. The poem talks about fears of getting old and fears of "roving" too much
sound like the fears of somebody whose life is nearing its conclusion. While the word "still"
means "continuous" or "continually

For the sword outwears its sheath,


And the soul wears out the breast,
The speaker continues to explain the meaning of his decision to stop roving. He's going to stop
roving is because he's tired of itit's time for him to stop messing around. The idea of old age
becomes even more pronounced here. A sword can only outwear its sheath (its holster or
scabbard) after a long time. The speaker is like the sword; he's been around a while and has
"worn out" his desire to rove. The same goes for that bit about the soul. Eventually, the
soul an inanimate, inner spiritual being that some say resides within us gets tired of the
body and goes wherever souls go. This is a very specific reference to death. In many religions,
including Christianity, when you die your body remains on earth but your soul goes to heaven or
some other spiritual place after life.

And the heart must pause to breathe,


And love itself have a rest. anaphora
The "heart must pause to breathe" and "love itself have rest. The first bit implies that roving is a
tiresome activitythe heart needs to rest. He's probably thinking of the heart in a
figurative sense as the source of motivation. Sometimes, the heart needs a break from wanting
to do things. If your heart is always obsessed with something, like roving, it can get tiresome.
The speaker is also probably thinking of the heart as the source of love and emotion. This is
why he talks about love needing a rest too.

Though the night was made for loving,


And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
This is sort of an anti carpe diem moment. The day returns too soon. The speaker has decided
that he (or they) will not rove any longer, for reasons he's already explained, and even though
the night is perfect for it. The reference to "loving," which we've had before makes us think of
sex. He might also just mean he's going to give up going out and getting crazy (things he loves)
with all the friends he loves..

Tears, broken hearts, sorrowand that's just the first stanza. Sadness is everywhere in
"When We Two Parted" The speaker was sad when he had to say goodbye to his friend,
and he's still sad now, in the present as he writes the poem. Even though he writes
about it, the speaker's sadness is something he keeps from his friends ("in silence I
grieve"), for reasons that remain unclear. Either way, he's not happy, and if he ever sees
this girl again he will show her how sad he still is by crying in front of her (and not saying
anything). And that, Shmoopers, is just plain sad.
Nobody dies for real in this poem, but death is still all over the place. "When We Two
Parted" is first and foremost a poem about the death of a relationshipthat's what
saying goodbye for a long time is, after all: a kind of death. Moreover, when the speaker
says goodbye to his friend, she turns into what looks like a corpse (she's cold and pale).
Whenever the woman's name is mentioned, the speaker thinks of death ("knell"), and
he feels a little dead himself. Death is sneakyhe's always around, even when you
don't think he is.
If you're still sad about saying goodbye to somebody to the point that you can't even
hear their name without getting a little upset, there must be love involved. Or, if not love,
then something really close to love must be going on. Now, usually, love poems are all
about "I love you so much. You're so beautiful," etc., etc. "When We Two Parted,"
however, is a bit different. It's all about what happens when love doesn't go so well
when the relationship ends, and how the pain lingers on.
Byron partly wrote this poem about a woman named Lady Frances Wedderburn
Webster, with whom he had some sort of relationship (the exact nature of it is up for
debate).
Now, at the time Byron wrote this poem (either in 1815 or 1816), Lady Frances was
involved in a less-than-appropriate relationship with the Duke of Wellington. And by less
than appropriate, we mean she was a married woman. Yikes.
Anyway, since Lady Frances' relationship with the Duke had been made somewhat
public, or at least was rumored, she suffered a bit of shame.
WHEN WE TWO PARTED
HEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--

It felt like the warning


Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell (the sound of a bell)1 to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-1

a "knell" refers to the somber, slow, sound of a bell


being rung to announce a death, the so-called "death
knell."

Why wert thou so dear?


They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Lond, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

With silence and tears.

In secret we met-In silence I grieve,


That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?

SONNET ON CHILLON
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art,
For there in thy habitation is the heart
The heart which love of thee alone can bind;
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless
gloom
Their country conquers with their
martyrdom,
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every
wind.
Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,
And thy sad floor an altar - for t'was trod
Until his very steps have left a trace
Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod
By Bonnivard! May none those marks
efface!
For they appeal from tyrrany to God.

Byron published The Prisoner of Chillon in 1816 in the volume The


Prisoner of Chillon and Other Poems . He was inspired to write
the poem by his visit, with Percy Shelley, to the Chateau de Chillon on
Lake Lemand in Switzerland. There Byron learned the story
ofFrancois de Bonnivard, a sixteenth-century patriot imprisoned for
his defense of the freedom of Geneva. This poem marks the first time

Byron chooses to tell the story of a real historical figure with attention
given to historical, rather than fantastic, detail.
The opening sonnet is told in third person, whereas the remaining
verses make up a dramatic monologue with the prisoner speaking in
first person. The Sonnet on Chillon thus serves as introduction and
chorus, helping the reader see where the poem is going. Indeed, the
poem is subtitled A Fable by Byron, seemingly contradicting his
following, realistically detailed verses. The Prisoner of Chillon is
intended to be a fable in the sense that there is a moral to the story of
Bonnivards imprisonment. Accordingly, Byron immediately presents
the fables moral in the opening sonnet: Eternal Spirit of the chainless
Mind!/Brightest in dungeons, Libery! thou art (lines 1-2). The man
whose body is imprisoned is nonetheless free to exercise his mind,
while the cause of his imprisonment is his belief in freedom for all
men. While he may be in chains as an individual, his ideals cannot be
so easily restrained.
Bonnivards imprisonment only strengthens his countrys resolve to be
free: when thy sons to fetters are consignd-- / To fetters / Their
country conquers with their martyrdom (lines 5-7). Furthermore, far
from crushing Bonnivards political spirit, his captors efforts made him
a martyr, and his prison a holy place (line 9) where people like Byron
still visit. In fact, the very steps Bonnivard walked within his cell are
described as an appeal from tyranny to God (line 14). The contrast
between the imprisonment of a person and the freedom of an ideal is
thus brought to the forefront of the poem before the narrative proper
begins.

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