'Sulpicia ad Cerinthum.'--Lib. iv.
Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell disease
Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please?
Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
That I might live for love and you again;
But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate:
By death alone I can avoid your hate
More verses by George Gordon Byron
- Epigram
- To A Vain Lady
- Parisina
- Thoughts Suggested By A College Examination
- On A Distant View Of The Village And School Of The Harrow Hill