The Early Years, 1778-1809
The Early Years 1788-1809
George Gordon Byron was born to Captain John Byron and Catherine Gordon on January 22, 1788. Due to the ill financial misfortunes of his parents, the family moved to the quiet countryside in hopes of avoiding debt collectors. In 1789, Lord Byron and his mother moved to Aberdeenshire to live a cheaper life away from Lord Byron’s father.
Lord Byron’s life changed drastically on July 31, 1794, when he became the heir presumptive to the Byron title and estates. In August of 1794, Lord Byron and his mother left for England to Newstead Abbey in Nottinghamshire.
Lord Byron attended Harrow School from 1801-1805 and then attended Trinity College, Cambridge in the autumn of 1805. He spent three years there.
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, Hours of Idleness, A Series of Poems, Original and Translated, Newark: Printed and sold by S. and J. Ridge; sold also by B. Crosby and Co. Stationer’s Court; Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-Row; R. and C. Rivington, St. Paul’s Churchyard; and J. Mawman, in the Poultry, London. 1807.
Rare Book Collection.
"Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;"
Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto IV, I
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, The Edinburgh Review, or Critical Journal: for October 1807…January 1808. To be continued quarterly. Vol. XI. Edinburgh: Printed by D. Willison, for Archibald Constable & Co. Edinburgh, and London: John Murray, 1808.
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers. A Satire, London: Printed for James Cawthorn, British Library, No. 24, Cockspur Street.
Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed From a Skull
Lord Byron
Start not—nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.
I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee;
I died: let earth my bones resign:
Fill up—thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.
Better to hold the sparkling grape
Than nurse the earthworm’s slimy brood,
And circle in the goblet’s shape
The drink of gods than reptile’s food.
Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others’ let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?
Quaff while thou canst; another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth’s embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.
Why not—since through life’s little day
Our heads such sad effects produce?
Redeemed from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs to be of use.