Related:

• On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 86...
• In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 20...
• I see before me the gladiator lie.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 140...
• Might shake the saintship of an anchorite.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 11...
• My native land, good night!
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 13...
• Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 10...
• Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 82...
• Adieu! adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 13...
• If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 7...