And I Have Loved Thee, Ocean! And My Joy Of Youthful Sports Was On Thy Breast To Be Borne, Like Thy Bubbles, Onward

Then farewell Horace, whom I hated so,-- Not for thy faults, but mine.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 77...
Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 98...
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 179...
My native land, good night!
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 13...
I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 1...
I have not loved the world, nor the world me.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 113...
I see before me the gladiator lie.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 140...
Adieu! adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 13...
O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 78...