Author:George Gordon Byron/Index of First Lines

Index of First Lines
Contents: Top · A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

This page is a work-in-progress.

A noble Lady of the Italian shore
A spirit passed before me: I beheld
A year ago you swore, fond she!
Absent or present, still to thee
Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Adieu, thou Hill! where early joy
Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!
Ægle, beauty and poet, has two little crimes
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite
Ah, heedless girl! why thus disclose
Ah! Love was never yet without
And, dost thou ask the reason of my sadness?
And thou art dead, as young and fair
And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee
And "thy true faith can alter never?"
And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Anne's Eye is liken'd to the Sun
As by the fix'd decrees of Heaven
As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
As the Liberty lads o'er the sea
Away, away, ye notes of Woe!
Away, away,—your flattering arts
Away with your fictions of flimsy romance
Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!

Behold the blessings of a lucky lot!
Belshazzar! from the banquet turn
Beneath Blessington's eyes
Beside the confines of the Ægean main
Bob Southey! You're a poet—Poet-laureate (from the "Dedication" in Don Juan)
Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred
Breeze of the night in gentler sighs
Bright be the place of thy soul!
But once I dared to lift my eyes

Candour compels me, Becher! to commend
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast
Come, blue-eyed Maid of Heaven!—but Thou, alas! (from Canto II in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage)
Could I remount the river of my years
Could Love for ever
Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell disease

Dear are the days of youth!
Dear Becher, you tell me to mix with mankind
Dear Doctor, I have read your play
Dear Long, in this sequester'd scene
Dear Murray
Dear object of defeated care!
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts
Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte
Do you know Doctor Nott?
Dorset! whose early steps with mine have stray'd
Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead

Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect
Equal to Jove that youth must be
Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! (from "Sonnet on Chillon" in The Prisoner of Chillon)

Fair Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
Fame, Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine
Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred ties
Famed for their civil and domestic quarrels
Fare thee well! and if for ever
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
Father of Light! great God of Heaven!
Few years have pass'd since thou and I
The fight was o'er; the flashing through the gloom (from Canto III in The Island)
Fill the goblet again! for I never before
For Orford and for Waldegrave
Francisca walks in the shadow of night
Friend of my youth! when young we rov'd
From out the mass of never-dying ill (from Canto III in The Prophecy of Dante)
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome
From this emblem what variance your motto evinces

God maddens him whom 't is his will to lose
Good plays are scarce
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne

Harriet! to see such Circumspection
He, unto whom thou art so partial
He who, sublime, in epic numbers roll'd
Here once engaged the stranger's view
Here's a happy New Year! but with reason
High in the midst, surrounded by his peers
Hills of Annesley, Bleak and Barren
His father's sense, his mother's grace
How came you in Hob's pound to cool
How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai (from Canto II in The Island)
How sweetly shines, through azure skies
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going

I cannot talk of Love to thee
I enter thy garden of roses
I had a dream, which was not all a dream
I heard thy fate without a tear
I read the "Christabel"
I saw thee weep—the big bright tear
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
I stood in Venice, on the "Bridge of Sighs (from Canto IV in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage)
I want a hero: an uncommon want (from Canto I in Don Juan)
I watched thee when the foe was at our side
I wish to tune my quivering lyre
I would I were a careless child
If Fate should seal my Death to-morrow
If for silver, or for gold
If, in the month of dark December
If sometimes in the haunts of men
If that high world, which lies beyond
Ill-fated Heart! and can it be
In Coron's bay floats many a galley light (from Canto II in The Corsair)
In digging up your bones, Tom Paine
In hearts like thine ne'er may I hold a place
In law an infant, and in years a boy
In moments to delight devoted
In Nottingham county there lives at Swan Green
In one dread night our city saw, and sighed
In one who felt as once he felt
In the dome of my Sires as the clear moonbeam falls
In the valley of waters we wept on the day
In the year since Jesus died for men
In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp
In this belovéd marble view
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! (from Canto III in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage)
It is the hour when from the boughs (from Hebrew Melodies, 1815)
It is the hour when from the boughs (from first stanza of Parisina)
It seems that the Braziers propose soon to pass

John Adams lies here, of the parish of Southwell

Kind Reader! take your choice to cry or laugh
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle (from Canto I in The Bride of Abydos)

Lady, accept the box a hero wore
Lady! if for the cold and cloudy clime (from the dedication of The Prophecy of Dante)
Lady! in whose heroic port
Lesbia! since far from you I've rang'd
Let Folly smile, to view the names
Long years!—It tries the thrilling frame to bear
Lucietta, my deary

Maid of Athens, ere we part
Many are Poets who have never penned (from Canto IV in The Prophecy of Dante)
Marion! why that pensive brow?
Mingle with the genial bowl
Montgomery! true, the common lot
The morning watch was come; the vessel lay (from Canto I in The Island)
Mrs. Wilmot sate scribbling a play
Muse of the many-twinkling feet! whose charms
Must thou go, my glorious Chief
My boat is on the shore
My dear Mr. Murray
My hair is grey, but not with years
My Sister! my sweet Sister! if a name
My soul is dark—Oh! quickly string

Nay, smile not at my sullen brow (from "To Inez" in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage)
Near this Spot
Newstead! fast-falling, once-resplendent dome!
Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood
No breath of air to break the wave
No specious splendour of this stone
Nose and Chin that make a knocker
Not in those climes where I have late been straying (from "To Ianthe" in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage)

O Thou! who rollest in yon azure field
O thou yclep'd by vulgar sons of Men
O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea (from Canto I in The Corsair)
Of all the twice ten thousand bards
Of rhymes I printed seven volumes
Of two fair virgins, modest, though admired
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous
"Oh! banish care"—such ever be
Oh, Castlereagh! thou art a patriot now
Oh! could Le Sage's demon's gift
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire
Oh, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever dear!
Oh! had my Fate been join'd with thine
Oh how I wish that an embargo
Oh Lady! when I left the shore
Oh! little lock of golden hue
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire
Oh! my lonely—lonely—lonely—Pillow!
Oh never talk again to me
Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story
Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth (from Canto I in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage)
Oh! thou that roll'st above thy glorious Fire
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream
Oh well done Lord E——n! and better done R——r!
Oh! well I know your subtle Sex
Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other
Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town
On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray
Once fairly set out on his party of pleasure
Once more in Man's frail world! which I had left (from Canto I in The Prophecy of Dante)
One struggle more, and I am free
Our life is twofold: Sleep hath its own world
Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's death

Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Posterity will ne'er survey

Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless crew!
Remember him, whom Passion's power
Remember thee! remember thee!
Remind me not, remind me not
River, that rollest by the ancient walls
Rousseau—Voltaire—our Gibbon—and De Staël

She walks in Beauty, like the night
'Siede la terra dove nata fui
Since now the hour is come at last
Since our Country, our God—Oh, my Sire!
Since the refinement of this polish'd age
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run (from Canto III in The Corsair)
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run (from The Curse of Minerva)
So we'll go no more a-roving
Sons of the Greeks, arise!
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh
Star of the brave!—whose beam hath shed
Start not—nor deem my spirit fled
Still must I hear?—shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the times
Stranger! behold, interred together
Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Sweet girl! though only once we met

'T is time this heart should be unmoved
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold
The chain I gave was fair to view
The dead have been awakened—shall I sleep?
The Devil returned to Hell by two
The Gods of old are silent on their shore
The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept
The King was on his throne
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
The lamp must be replenish'd, but even then
The Land where I was born sits by the Seas
The man of firm and noble soul
The modest bard, like many a bard unknown
The Moorish King rides up and down
The Moralists tell us that Loving is Sinning
The Night came on the Waters—all was rest
The "Origin of Love!"—Ah, why
The roses of Love glad the garden of life
The sacred song that on mine ear
The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain (from Canto I of Lara: A Tale)
The Son of Love and Lord of War I sing
The spell is broke, the charm is flown!
The Spirit of the fervent days of Old (from Canto II in The Prophecy of Dante)
The wild gazelle on Judah's hills
The winds are high on Helle's wave (from Canto II in The Bride of Abydos)
The world is a bundle of hay
There be none of Beauty's daughters
There is a mystic thread of life
There is a tear for all that die
There is no more for me to hope
There was a time, I need not name
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
There's something in a stupid ass
These locks, which fondly thus entwine
They say that Hope is happiness
Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes
This Band, which bound thy yellow hair
This day, of all our days, has done
This faint resemblance of thy charms
This votive pledge of fond esteem
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue
Thou art not false, but thou art fickle
"Thou lay thy branch of laurel down!"
Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days
Thou whose spell can raise the dead
Though the day of my Destiny's over
Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen
Through Life's dull road, so dim and dirty
Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe
Thy days are done, thy fame begun
Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt
Time! on whose arbitrary wing
'Tis done—and shivering in the gale
'Tis done—but yesterday a King!
'Tis done!—I saw it in my dreams
'Tis fifty years, and yet their fray
'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout
'Tis midnight—but it is not dark
Titan! to whose immortal eyes
To be the father of the fatherless
To hook the Reader, you, John Murray
'Twas after dread Pultowa's day
'Twas now the hour when Night had driven
'Twas now the noon of night, and all was still

Unhappy Dives! in an evil hour
Up to battle! Sons of Suli

Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Was there ever a man who was married so sorry? (from Eclogue 2 of The Blues)
We do not curse thee, Waterloo!
We sate down and wept by the waters
Weep, daughter of a royal line
Well! thou art happy, and I feel
Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be
What are to me those honours or renown
What are you doing now
What matter the pangs of a husband and father
"What say I?"—not a syllable further in prose
When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home
When all around grew drear and dark
When coldness wraps this suffering clay
When Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought"
When energising objects men pursue
When fierce conflicting passions urge
When Friendship or Love
When, from the heart where Sorrow sits
When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive
When I hear you express an affection so warm
When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath
When Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers
When slow Disease, with all her host of Pains
When some proud son of man returns to earth
When the last sunshine of expiring Day
When the vain triumph of the imperial lord
When Thurlow this damned nonsense sent
When Time, or soon or late, shall bring
When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice
When we two parted
Whene'er I view those lips of thine
Where are those honours, Ida! once your own
White as a white sail on a dusky sea (from Canto IV in The Island)
Who hath not glowed above the page where Fame
Who killed John Keats?
Who would not laugh, if Lawrence, hired to grace
"Why, how now, saucy Tom?
Why, Pigot, complain
Why should my anxious breast repine
With Death doomed to grapple
Without a stone to mark the spot
Woman! experience might have told me
Would you go to the house by the true gate

Ye Cupids, droop each little head
Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection
Yes! wisdom shines in all his mien
You call me still your Life.—Oh! change the word
You have asked for a verse:—the request
You say you love, and yet your eye
Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground
You're too late (from Eclogue I of The Blues)
Your pardon, my friend
Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove