Outstanding people of Great Britain Lord Byron Made by Nikita Bokatov

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First years of a revolutionary poet The great English revolutionary poet George Gordon Byron was born on the 22nd of January in 1788 into an old aristocratic family. His mother came of a rich Scottish family. His father was a poor army officer, who spent all wife’s money and died when the boy was 3 years old. Byron spent first 10 years of his life in Scotland. His love of natural scenery was reflected in many of his poems. They boy went to a Grammar School and liked history. In 1795 his grand-uncle died and the boy inherited the title of a lord and an estate in Nottinghamshire. He went to Harrow School there. When the boy was 16 he fell in love with Mary Ann Chaworth, but she didn’t love him. He couldn’t easily forget her.

Literature wonders At 17 years old Byron entered Cambridge University and there his literature career began. Byron hated exploitation and sympathized with the workers. In 1807 he published his first collection of poems “Hours of Idleness”. In 1809 George Byron visited Portugal, Spain, Albania, Greece and Turkey. Byron described his travels in a long poem “Child Harold’s Pilgrimage” and published it in 1812. After that Byron became one of the most popular men in London. Between 1813 and 1816 Byron composed his “Oriental Tales”: “The Giaour”, “The Corsair”, “Lara” and others. These poems were admired by Byron’s contemporaries and called forth a new direction –“Byronism”. In 1815, Byron married Isabella Milbanke (a cold woman). They had a daughter, but he wasn’t happy with his wife and they parted. Then he moved to Switzerland, where he met Percy Bysshe Shelley (they became friends) and wrote “The Prisoner of Chillon” and “Manfred”. In 1817 he moved to Italy, where he lived until 1823 and wrote “Don Juan”, “Cain” and “The Age of Bronze”. Then he moved to Greece, where he died in April 1824.

Byron’s wisdom “When a man has no freedom to fight for at home, let him fight for that for a freedom”. “I will teach, if possible, the stones to rise against earth’s tyrants”. “Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship”. “There is no instinct like that of the heart”. “A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it’ll be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.”. “I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.”.

Who’s Who There are 5 levels of hereditary peer that make up the aristocracy in Britain. Each has its own ceremonial costume, and a specially decorated crown, which peers are entitled to wear on special occasions, such as a coronation or at the official opening of Parliament. Duke This is the highest rank of the peerage as well as the rarest title. In this century this title has only been given to members of the Royale Family. The wife of a duke is a duchess. Baron This is the lowest rank in the peerage and the most common title. All non-hereditary peers created today have the title of baron or baroness. Marquess The first marquess in England was created by Richard II in 1385. 10 marquesses have been created this century. The wife of a marquess is a marchioness. Earl This is one of the oldest titles, which comes from the ancient word for chief. 2 prominent prime ministers have been given the title this century. The wife of an earl is a countess. Viscount The 1st viscount was created in 1440, but the title has never been widely used. The wife of a viscount is a viscountess.

Poems My Soul is Dark 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 mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired 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! My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let my gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again: If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain. But bid the strain be wild and deep, Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nursed, And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doomed to know the worst, And break at once – or yield to song.