Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW, by GEORGE GORDON BYRON



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LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Spot of my youth! Whose hoary branches sigh
Last Line: And unremember'd by the world beside
Alternate Author Name(s): Byron, Lord; Byron, 6th Baron
Subject(s): Harrow, England; Youth


SPOT of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;
With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore,
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before:
Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,
Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still,
Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay,
And frequent mused the twilight hours away;
Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline,
But, ah! without the thoughts which then were mine:
How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,
Invite the bosom to recall the past,
And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,
'Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!'

When fate shall chill at length this fever'd breast,
And calm its cares and passions into rest,
Oft have I thought, 't would soothe my dying hour, --
If aught may soothe when life resigns her power, --
To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell,
Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell.
With this fond dream, methinks, 't were sweet to die --
And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie;
Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose,
Scene of my youth and couch of my repose;
For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade,
Press'd by the turf where once my childhood play'd;
Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved,
Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps moved;
Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear,
Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here;
Deplored by those in early days allied,
And unremember'd by the world beside





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