Byron wrote this poem at Missolonghi, the site of a battle for the independence of Greece, where Byron had traveled to support the effort. He wrote this poem on January 22, and died in Greece on April 19.
'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 'tis not thus—and 'tis not here—
Such thoughts should shake my soul.
Where glory decks the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.
The sword, the banner, and the field
Glory and Greece, around us see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.
Awake! (not Greece—she is awake!)
Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home!
Tread those reviving passions down
Unworthy manhood!—unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.
If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honorable death
Is here:—up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out—less often sought than found—
A soldier's grave, for thee the best
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.
Question: In what way does this poem and the circumstances surrounding it reflect the Romantic ideal?