Sunday, May 17, 2020
This Wreck of a Realm
Byron (1788-1824), Manfred, Act II, Scene III (First Destiny speaking):
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The city lies sleeping;
The morn, to deplore it,
May dawn on it weeping:
Sullenly, slowly,
The black plague flew o'er it,— 40
Thousands lie lowly;
Tens of thousands shall perish—
The living shall fly from
The sick they should cherish:
But nothing can vanquish 45
The touch that they die from.
Sorrow and anguish,
And evil and dread,
Envelope a nation—
The blest are the dead, 50
Who see not the sight
Of their own desolation;
This work of a night—
This wreck of a realm—this deed of my doing—
For ages I've done, and shall still be renewing! 55
