Lines Written Beneath a Picture
Dear object of defeated care!Though now of Love and thee bereft,To reconcile me with despairThine image and my tears are left.
'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope;But this I feel can ne'er be true:For by the death-blow of my HopeMy Memory immortal grew.
Sons of the Greeks, arise!The glorious hour's gone forth,And, worthy of such ties,Display who gave us birth.
Sons of Greeks! let us goIn arms against the foe,Till their hated blood shall flowIn a river past our feet.
Then manfully despisingThe Turkish tyrant's yoke,Let your country see you rising,And all her chains are broke.Brave shades of chiefs and sages,Behold the coming strife!Hellenes of past ages,Oh, start again to life!At the sound of my trumpet, breakingYour sleep, oh, join with me!And the seven-hilled city seeking,Fight, conquer, till we're free.
Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbersLethargic dost thou lie?Awake, and join thy numbersWith Athens, old ally!Leonidas recalling,That chief of ancient song,Who saved ye once from falling,The terrible! the strong!Who made that bold diversionIn old Thermopylae,And warring with the PersianTo keep his country free;With his three hundred wagingThe battle, long he stood,And like a lion raging,Expired in seas of blood.
I enter thy garden of roses,Beloved and fair Haidee,Each morning where Flora reposes,For surely I see her in thee.Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee,Receive this fond truth from my tongue,Which utters its song to adore thee,Yet trembles for what it has sung;As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,Through her eyes, through her every feature,Shines the soul of the young Haidee.
But the loveliest garden grows hatefulWhen Love has abandoned the bowers;Bring me hemlock--since mine is ungrateful,That herb is more fragrant than flowers.The poison, when poured from the chalice,Will deeply embitter the bowl;But when drunk to escape from thy malice,The draught shall be sweet to my soul.Too cruel! in vain I implore theeMy heart from these horrors to save:Will nought to my bosom restore thee?Then open the gates of the grave.
As the chief who to combat advancesSecure of his conquest before,Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances,Hast pierced through my heart to its core.Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perishBy pangs which a smile would dispel?Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,For torture repay me too well?Now sad is the garden of roses,Beloved but false Haidee!There Flora all withered reposes,And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
Words in this poem
- glorious a.
- Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- broke v. i.
- To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- flora n.
- The goddess of flowers and spring. [L., the goddess of flowers, from flos, floris, flower. See Flower.]
- adore v. t.
- To worship with profound reverence; to pay divine honors to; to honor as deity or as divine. [OE. aouren, anouren, adoren, OF. aorer, adorer, F. adorer, fr. L. adorare; ad + orare to speak, pray, os, oris, mouth. In OE. confused with honor, the French pr]
- hateful a.
- Manifesting hate or hatred; malignant; malevolent.
- ungrateful a.
- Not grateful; not thankful for favors; making no returns, or making ill return for kindness, attention, etc.; ingrateful. South.
- chalice n.
- A cup or bowl; especially, the cup used in the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. [OR. chalis, calice, OF. chalice, calice, F. calice, fr. L. calix, akin to Gr. helmet. Cf. Calice, Calyx.]
- embitter v. t.
- To make bitter or sad. See Imbitter.
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- dispel v. t.
- To drive away by scattering, or so to cause to vanish; to clear away; to banish; to dissipate; as, to dispel a cloud, vapors, cares, doubts, illusions. [L. dispellere; dis- + pellere to push, drive. See Pulse a beating.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Lines Written Beneath a Picture is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 3, Project Gutenberg ebook #21811; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Lord Byron, Lines Written Beneath a Picture, in The Giaour, and Other Poems (1816), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #21811, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/byron-works-3/lines-written-beneath-a-picture.html, id L23836.
Form and metre
Lines Written Beneath a Picture is 80 lines in 9 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 80%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABAB careA · bereftB · despairA · leftB
- 2 ABAB copeA · trueB · hopeA · grewB
- 3 A-A- ariseA · forth · tiesA · birth
- 4 AAA- goA · foeA · flowA · feet
- 5 ABABCDCD-E-E despisingA · yokeB · risingA · brokeB · sagesC · strifeD · agesC · lifeD · breaking · meE · seeking · freeE
- 6 ABABCCCCDBD-EFEF slumbersA · lieB · numbersA · allyB · recallingC · songC · fallingC · strongC · diversionD · thermopylaeB · persianD · free · wagingE · stoodF · ragingE · bloodF
- 7 ABACCDCD-C-B rosesA · haideeB · reposesA · theeC · theeC · tongueD · theeC · sungD · nature · treeC · feature · haideeB
- 8 ABABCDCDEFEF hatefulA · bowersB · ungratefulA · flowersB · chaliceC · bowlD · maliceC · soulD · theeE · saveF · theeE · graveF
- 9 ABABCDCDE-E- advancesA · beforeB · lancesA · coreB · perishC · dispelD · cherishC · wellD · rosesE · haidee · reposesE · me
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Dear object of defeated care! | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| Though now of Love and thee bereft, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| To reconcile me with despair | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| Thine image and my tears are left. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| 'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But this I feel can ne'er be true: | 8 | ········ |
| For by the death-blow of my Hope | 8 | ········ |
| My Memory immortal grew. | 8 | ·/˘˘˘/˘· |
| Sons of the Greeks, arise! | 6 | ····˘/ |
| The glorious hour's gone forth, | 8 | ·/˘˘/˘·· |
| And, worthy of such ties, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Display who gave us birth. | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Sons of Greeks! let us go | 6 | ······ |
| In arms against the foe, | 6 | ······ |
| Till their hated blood shall flow | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| In a river past our feet. | 8 | ··/˘·/˘· |
| Then manfully despising | 7 | ·/˘˘˘/˘ |
| The Turkish tyrant's yoke, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Let your country see you rising, | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| And all her chains are broke. | 6 | ······ |
| Brave shades of chiefs and sages, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Behold the coming strife! | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Hellenes of past ages, | 6 | /˘··/˘ |
| Oh, start again to life! | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| At the sound of my trumpet, breaking | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Your sleep, oh, join with me! | 6 | ······ |
| And the seven-hilled city seeking, | 9 | ··/˘·/˘/˘ |
| Fight, conquer, till we're free. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers | 8 | /˘/˘··/˘ |
| Lethargic dost thou lie? | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| Awake, and join thy numbers | 7 | ˘/···/˘ |
| With Athens, old ally! | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Leonidas recalling, | 6 | ···˘/˘ |
| That chief of ancient song, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Who saved ye once from falling, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| The terrible! the strong! | 6 | ·/˘˘·· |
| Who made that bold diversion | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| In old Thermopylae, | 5 | ····· |
| And warring with the Persian | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| To keep his country free; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| With his three hundred waging | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| The battle, long he stood, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And like a lion raging, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Expired in seas of blood. | 6 | ˘/···· |
| I enter thy garden of roses, | 9 | ·/˘·/˘·/˘ |
| Beloved and fair Haidee, | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Each morning where Flora reposes, | 9 | ·/˘·/˘/·˘ |
| For surely I see her in thee. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee, | 9 | ·/˘···˘/· |
| Receive this fond truth from my tongue, | 8 | ˘/······ |
| Which utters its song to adore thee, | 9 | ·/˘···˘/· |
| Yet trembles for what it has sung; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| As the branch, at the bidding of Nature, | 10 | ·····/˘·/˘ |
| Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Through her eyes, through her every feature, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Shines the soul of the young Haidee. | 8 | ········ |
| But the loveliest garden grows hateful | 10 | ·····/˘·/˘ |
| When Love has abandoned the bowers; | 9 | ···˘/˘·/˘ |
| Bring me hemlock--since mine is ungrateful, | 10 | ··/····˘/˘ |
| That herb is more fragrant than flowers. | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| The poison, when poured from the chalice, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Will deeply embitter the bowl; | 8 | ·/˘˘/˘·· |
| But when drunk to escape from thy malice, | 10 | ····˘/··/˘ |
| The draught shall be sweet to my soul. | 8 | ········ |
| Too cruel! in vain I implore thee | 8 | ·/···˘/· |
| My heart from these horrors to save: | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| Will nought to my bosom restore thee? | 9 | ····/˘˘/· |
| Then open the gates of the grave. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| As the chief who to combat advances | 10 | ·····˘/˘/˘ |
| Secure of his conquest before, | 8 | ˘/··/˘·· |
| Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Hast pierced through my heart to its core. | 8 | ········ |
| Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| By pangs which a smile would dispel? | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish, | 10 | ········/˘ |
| For torture repay me too well? | 8 | ·/˘˘/··· |
| Now sad is the garden of roses, | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| Beloved but false Haidee! | 6 | ˘/···· |
| There Flora all withered reposes, | 9 | ·/˘·/˘/·˘ |
| And mourns o'er thine absence with me. | 8 | ····/˘·· |
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