George Gordon, Lord Byron: Acquires his title at age 10 from his great-uncle the “ Wicked Lord Byron. ” Moves with his mother to Newstead Abbey, near Nottingham Augusta during this period. 1807: First volume of poetry Hours of Idleness.

The “mad-bad- and dangerous” Lord Byron Liaisons with Lady Caroline Lamb; Lady Oxford. Scandal and gossip about his relationship with Augusta, whose child is named Medora (heroine of The Corsair). 1815: Marries Annabella Milbanke. Annabella leaves a few weeks after the birth of Augusta Ada

Byron: : Byron settles in Geneva, near Percy and Mary Shelley 1817: begins work on Manfred. Leaves for Venice. Continues work on the third and fourth cantos of Childe Harold. Sells Newstead Abbey for £ 94, : First two cantos of Don Juan.

Byron: : Joins the Greek war of independence. Falls ill in 1824 and dies in April at the age of 36.

The Byronic Hero

She walks in Beauty She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that 's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

Glossary Climes:climate aspect:face, countenance Gaudy:bright-colored and showy Impair:damage, make …worse Raven tress:long black hair Serenely:peacefully Tints:variety of colors Goodness:virtue,excellence All below:everything in the world

Questions 1.This poem was written to sing praise of the beauty of a lady the poet met. Two types of beauty, external and internal, are shown in this poem. Tell what they are and how they are supported by the details. 2.What are the similes used to describe this lady?

Summary Byron wrote this poem the morning after he had met his beautiful young cousin by marriage, Mrs. Robert John Wilmot, who wore a black mourning gown brightened with spangles. The poet admires the woman’s eyes, black hair, brow, cheek, coloring and smile. With dark hair and fair face, the lady is mingling of various light and shades, comparable to the light and darkness of a night sky with stars. He praises her pure thoughts, good actions, serene mind, and innocent love.

She walks in beauty, like the night a Of cloudless climes and starry skies; b And all that's best of dark and bright a Meet in her aspect and her eyes: b Thus mellowed to that tender light a Which heaven to gaudy day denies. b --G. G. Byron: She Walks in Beauty 她款款行来，仪态万方，美不胜收， 宛似点点繁星，闪烁在无云的夜空； 明与暗的最佳配置，效果绝优， 在她的容颜与眼波里汇融： 汇融成一片恬淡清光，无限柔和，无限温柔 —— 那是骄阳撒艳的白日晴空所不能容。 —— 拜伦：《她款款行来，仪态万方，美不胜收》

Written by Byron upon seeing his cousin, Mrs. Anne Wilmot, in a sparkled black mourning gown. Note the comparison between all that is beautiful in the woman, and the beauty of nature Beauty also expressed in terms of purity and innocence, of dark and light again compared to pure nature The darkness portrayed in the poem is the night, but there are two types of light—the soft, serene dark of the night, which he compares Mrs. Wilmot to, and the harsh light of daylight.

Percy Shelly, fought injustice;and Greek war of independence from the Turks.

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own? The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, Like wither’d leaves, to quicken a new birth; And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguish’d hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawaken’d earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? Ode to the West Wind Chart 5

Spring,the Sweet Spring Spring,the sweet spring,is the year's pleasant king, Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lobers meet, old wives a sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring,the Sweet Spring! Thomas Nashe ( )

Ozymandias I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand, Half sunk,a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed, And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings, Look on me works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. P.B.Shelley ( )

John Keats( ) “To Autumn” Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twinéd flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barréd clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.