Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Volym 1J. Murray, 1837 - 329 sidor |
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Sida 13
... says Mr. Hobhouse , " with the spray of the immortal rill , and here , if any where , should have felt the poetic inspiration : we drank deep , too , of the spring ; but- ( I can answer for myself ) -without feeling sensible of any ...
... says Mr. Hobhouse , " with the spray of the immortal rill , and here , if any where , should have felt the poetic inspiration : we drank deep , too , of the spring ; but- ( I can answer for myself ) -without feeling sensible of any ...
Sida 14
... say ; Suffice it , that perchance they were of fame , And had been glorious in another day : But one sad losel soils a name for aye , However mighty in the olden time ; Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay , Nor florid prose ...
... say ; Suffice it , that perchance they were of fame , And had been glorious in another day : But one sad losel soils a name for aye , However mighty in the olden time ; Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay , Nor florid prose ...
Sida 15
... a very moderate scale ; and , besides , his usual companions , though far from being averse to convivial indulgences , were not only , as Mr. Moore says , VII . The Childe departed from his father's hall : CANTO I. 15 PILGRIMAGE .
... a very moderate scale ; and , besides , his usual companions , though far from being averse to convivial indulgences , were not only , as Mr. Moore says , VII . The Childe departed from his father's hall : CANTO I. 15 PILGRIMAGE .
Sida 16
... say true , nor wrong these holy men . VIII . Yet oft - times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow , As if the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurk'd below : But this none ...
... say true , nor wrong these holy men . VIII . Yet oft - times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow , As if the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurk'd below : But this none ...
Sida 19
... says to his mother , " shew the lad every kindness , as he is my great favourite . " He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy , which leaves a most favourable impression of his thoughtfulness and kindliness . " I have , " he says ...
... says to his mother , " shew the lad every kindness , as he is my great favourite . " He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy , which leaves a most favourable impression of his thoughtfulness and kindliness . " I have , " he says ...
Andra upplagor - Visa alla
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1841 |
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1826 |
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1825 |
Vanliga ord och fraser
Alban hill Albanians Ali Pacha amongst ancient Ariosto Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cæsar called Canto charms Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero clime Constantinople dark death deem'd deep dust earth Egeria fair fame feel Florence foes French gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills Historical Notes Hobhouse honour hope hour immortal Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake land letter lightning live Lord Byron maid mind mortal mother mountains ne'er never o'er once Pacha palace pass passion Petrarch plain poem poet Portrait Pouqueville rock Roman Rome ruins says scene seems seen shore sigh smile song soul spirit spot Stanza Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb Turks Venetians Venice walls waves wild wind woes wolf
Populära avsnitt
Sida 245 - His steps are not upon thy paths— thy fields Are not a spoil for him— thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth — there let him lay.
Sida 127 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...
Sida 124 - There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush!
Sida 247 - twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane, — as I do here.
Sida 158 - Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
Sida 155 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder...
Sida 230 - And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him— he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. He heard it, but he heeded not— his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away...
Sida 115 - Is THY face like thy mother's, my fair child! Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope. — Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me ; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
Sida 153 - This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction ; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. t-XXXVI. It is the hush of night...
Sida 208 - Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be Her resurrection • all beside — decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free...