Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto the Fourth, CXXXVII :
But I have lived, and have not lived in vain :
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,
And my frame perish even in conquering pain ;
But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ;
Something unearthly, which they deem not of,
Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.
![Portrait de Byron par Géricault, Musée Fabre Portrait de Byron par Géricault, Musée Fabre](/sites/default/files/styles/moyen_150_100/public/Images/Lord%20Byron_Gericault.jpg?itok=PAuGS7Yr)