Poem by George Gordon Byron

Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos

1.

If, in the month of dark December,
⁠    Leander, who was nightly wont
(What maid will not the tale remember?)
⁠⁠    To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!

2.

If, when the wintry tempest roared,
⁠⁠    He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
⁠And thus of old thy current poured,
⁠⁠    Fair Venus! how I pity both!

3.

For me, degenerate modern wretch,
⁠⁠    Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,
⁠⁠    And think I've done a feat to-day.

4.

But since he crossed the rapid tide,
⁠⁠    According to the doubtful story,
To woo,—and—Lord knows what beside,
⁠⁠    And swam for Love, as I for Glory;

5.

'Twere hard to say who fared the best:
⁠⁠    Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!
He lost his labour, I my jest:
⁠⁠    For he was drowned, and I've the ague.

1. Epitaph
2. Churchill’s Grave
3. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. To the Earl of Clare

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