The Edinburgh Literary Journal/January–June 1831/Number 133/Byron’s Prayer

BYRON’S PRAYER.

By John Malcolm.

My soul is sick of this long day,I’m weary of its lingering light—And, loathing life, I turn awayTo weep, and wish for night.I long to lay me gently downIn slumber on my mother’s breast—And would exchange an empire’s crownFor everlasting rest.
Though but in manhood’s morn I stand—I’ve lived the laurel wreath to gain—My songs are heard in every land,And beauty breathes the strain.Her smiles and sweeter tears are mine,And yet of love—youth—fame possest—Oh! gladly would my heart resignAll—all for endless rest.
The dreams for which men wish to live,Or dare to die—the gilded cloudOf glory o’er the tomb I’d giveFor silence and a shroud.I ask no paradise on high,—With being’s strife on earth opprest,—The only heaven for which I sighIs rest—eternal rest!
My natal day with tears I keep,Which I rejoiced in when a child,And each return the birth I weepO’er which my mother smiled.Bid Heaven take back the breath it gave,That I, a cold and silent guest,Within my father’s house, the grave,May find a long—long rest.
Without my own consent I came,But with my wildest wish I go—For I would fairly be the sameI was—ere born to woe.My cold hush’d heart, with no pale gleamsOf consciousness to wake and waste,I would have sleep without its dreams,And rest—eternal rest!



This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.

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