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ReadingWillow structured literacy program for Australian students

The Cornelian

Lord Byron·1788–1824
Lines:32Movement:Romanticism
No specious splendour of this stoneEndears it to my memory ever;With lustre _only once_ it shone,And blushes modest as the giver. Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties,Have, for my weakness, oft reprov'd me;Yet still the simple gift I prize,For I am sure, the giver lov'd me. He offer'd it with downcast look,As _fearful_ that I might refuse it;I told him, when the gift I took,My _only fear_ should be, to lose it. This pledge attentively I view'd,And _sparkling_ as I held it near,Methought one drop the stone bedew'd,And, ever since, _I've lov'd a tear._ Still, to adorn his humble youth,Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield;But he, who seeks the flowers of truth,Must quit the garden, for the field. 'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth,Which beauty shews, and sheds perfume;The flowers, which yield the most of both,In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. Had Fortune aided Nature's care,For once forgetting to be blind,_His_ would have been an ample share,If well proportioned to his mind. But had the Goddess clearly seen,His form had fix'd her fickle breast;_Her_ countless hoards would _his_ have been,And none remain'd to give the rest.