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by George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)

I would I were a careless child
Language: English 
I would I were a careless child,
⁠ Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,
⁠ Or bounding o’er the dark blue wave;
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride,
⁠ Accords not with the freeborn soul,
Which loves the mountain’s craggy side,
⁠ And seeks the rocks where billows roll.

Fortune! take back these cultur’d lands,
⁠ Take back this name of splendid sound!
I hate the touch of servile hands,
⁠ I hate the slaves that cringe around:
Place me among the rocks I love,
⁠ Which sound to Ocean’s wildest roar;
I ask but this—again to rove
⁠ Through scenes my youth hath known before.

Few are my years, and yet I feel
⁠ The World was ne’er design’d for me:
Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal
⁠ The hour when man must cease to be?
Once I beheld a splendid dream,
⁠ A visionary scene of bliss;
Truth!—wherefore did thy hated beam
⁠ Awake me to a world like this?

I lov’d—but those I lov’d are gone;
⁠ Had friends—my early friends are fled:
How cheerless feels the heart alone,
⁠ When all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions, o’er the bowl
⁠ Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though Pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
⁠ The heart—the heart—is lonely still.

How dull! to hear the voice of those
⁠ Whom Rank or Chance, whom Wealth or Power,
Have made, though neither friends nor foes,
⁠ Associates of the festive hour.
Give me again a faithful few,
⁠ In years and feelings still the same,
And I will fly the midnight crew,
⁠ Where boist’rous Joy is but a name.

And Woman, lovely Woman! thou,
⁠ My hope, my comforter, my all!
How cold must be my bosom now,
⁠ When e’en thy smiles begin to pall!
Without a sigh would I resign,
⁠ This busy scene of splendid Woe,
To make that calm contentment mine,
⁠ Which Virtue knows, or seems to know.

Fain would I fly the haunts of men—
⁠ I seek to shun, not hate mankind;
My breast requires the sullen glen,
⁠ Whose gloom may suit a darken’d mind.
Oh! that to me the wings were given,
⁠ Which bear the turtle to her nest!
Then would I cleave the vault of Heaven,
⁠ To flee away, and be at rest.

About the headline (FAQ)

Text Authorship:

  • by George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron (1788 - 1824) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

    [ None yet in the database ]

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • DAN Danish (Dansk) (Caspara Preetzmann) , "O! var jeg end en sorgløs Dreng"


Researcher for this page: Joost van der Linden [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2026-10-22
Line count: 56
Word count: 396

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