Poem by George Gordon Byron

Hebrew Melodies 11. Thy Days Are Done

I.

Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
⁠    Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
⁠⁠    The slaughters of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
⁠    ⁠The freedom he restored!

II.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
⁠⁠    Thou shalt not taste of death!
The generous blood that flowed from thee
⁠⁠    Disdained to sink beneath:
Within our veins its currents be,
⁠⁠    Thy spirit on our breath!

III.

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
⁠⁠    Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
⁠⁠    From virgin voices poured!
To weep would do thy glory wrong:
⁠⁠    Thou shalt not be deplored.

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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