Hills of Annesley, bleak and barren,
Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd,
How the northern tempests, warring,
Howl above thy tufted shade!
Now no more, the hours beguiling,
Former favourite haunts I see;
Now no more my Mary smiling
Makes ye seem a heaven to me.
More verses by George Gordon Byron
- Stanzas To Augusta
- English Bards And Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
- Childish Recollections
- Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer
- The Chain I Gave: From The Turkish