The Hell Of Waters! Where They Howl And Hiss, And Boil In Endless Torture.

There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 19...
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 1...
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 183...
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 20...
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 42...
The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 79...
And what is writ is writ,-- Would it were worthier!
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 185...
Fills The air around with beauty.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 49...
Heaven gives its favourites--early death.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 102...