Poetry: Lord Byron - Hebrew Melodies - Part 1 - She walks in beauty - The harp the monarch minstrel swept - If that high world - Links to more Byron

Posted by Ricardo Marcenaro | Posted in | Posted on 9:54



The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon. Douglas Kinnaid,[*] for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr Braham and Mr Nathan.

* [Transcriber's note: the impression is bad here and I am uncertain that I have correctly rendered this name.]


She 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!


The harp the monarch minstrel swept,
 The King of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept
 O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,
 Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
It soften'd men of iron mould,
 It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
 That felt not, fired not to the tone,
 Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne.

It told the triumphs of our King,
 It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,
 The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
 Its sound aspired to heaven, and there abode!
Since then, though heard on earth no more,
 Devotion, and her daughter Love,
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
 To sounds that seem as from above,
 In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.


If that high world, which lies beyond
 Our own, surviving Love endears;
If there the cherish'd heart be fond,
 The eye the same, except in tears --
How welcome those untrodden spheres!
 How sweet this very hour to die!
To soar from earth, and find all fears
 Lost in thy light -- Eternity!

It must be so: 'tis not for self
 That we so tremble on the brink;
And striving to o'erleap the gulf,
 Yet cling to Being's severing link.
Oh! in that future let us think
 To hold each heart the heart that shares.
With them the immortal waters drink,
 And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage



Poetry: Lord Byron - Hebrew Melodies - Part 1 - She walks in beauty - The harp the monarch minstrel swept - If that high world - Links to more Byron

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