I wish to tune my quivering lyre <br />To deed of fame and notes of fire; <br />To echo, from its rising swell, <br />How heroes fought and nations fell, <br />When Atreus' sons advanced to war, <br />Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar; <br />But still, to martial strains unknown, <br />My lyre recurs to love alone. <br />Fired with the hope of future fame, <br />I seek some nobler hero's name; <br />The dying chords are strung anew, <br />To war, to war, my harp is due. <br />With glowing strings, the epic strain <br />To Jove's great son I raise again; <br />Alcides and his glorious deeds, <br />Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds. <br />All, all in vain; my wayward lyre <br />Wakes silver notes of soft desire. <br />Adieu, ye chiefs renown'd in arms! <br />Adieu the clang of war's alarms! <br />To other deeds my soul is strung, <br />And sweeter notes shall now be sung; <br />My harp shall all its powers reveal, <br />To tell the tale my heart must feel; <br />Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim, <br />In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-anacreon/
