The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 |
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Sida 22
... never canst thou cancel half her debt , Eternity forbids thee to forget . " With slow and searching glance upon his face Grew Lara's eyes , but nothing there could trace They knew , or chose to know - with dubious look He deign'd no ...
... never canst thou cancel half her debt , Eternity forbids thee to forget . " With slow and searching glance upon his face Grew Lara's eyes , but nothing there could trace They knew , or chose to know - with dubious look He deign'd no ...
Sida 48
... never been , A breathing but devoted warrior lay : ' Twas Lara bleeding fast from life away . His follower once , and now his only guide , Kneels Kaled watchful o'er his welling side , And with his scarf would stanch the tides that rush ...
... never been , A breathing but devoted warrior lay : ' Twas Lara bleeding fast from life away . His follower once , and now his only guide , Kneels Kaled watchful o'er his welling side , And with his scarf would stanch the tides that rush ...
Sida 52
... never yet beneath The breast of man such trusty love may That trying moment hath at once reveal'd The secret long and yet but half - conceal'd ; breathe ! In baring to revive that lifeless breast , Its grief 52 CANTO II . LARA .
... never yet beneath The breast of man such trusty love may That trying moment hath at once reveal'd The secret long and yet but half - conceal'd ; breathe ! In baring to revive that lifeless breast , Its grief 52 CANTO II . LARA .
Sida 56
... never loud ; But furious would you tear her from the spot Where yet she scarce believed that he was not , Her eye shot forth with all the living fire That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire ; But left to waste her weary moments ...
... never loud ; But furious would you tear her from the spot Where yet she scarce believed that he was not , Her eye shot forth with all the living fire That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire ; But left to waste her weary moments ...
Sida 87
... Never had shaken his nerves in fight ; But he better could brook to behold the dying , Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying , Scorch'd with the death - thirst , and writhing in vain , Than the perishing dead who are past all pain ...
... Never had shaken his nerves in fight ; But he better could brook to behold the dying , Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying , Scorch'd with the death - thirst , and writhing in vain , Than the perishing dead who are past all pain ...
Andra upplagor - Visa alla
The works of ... lord Byron, Volym 4 George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1816 |
The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1830 |
The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1823 |
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accents apostolic palace appear'd beneath Beppo blood Bonnivard bosom bound breast breath brow call'd Cavalier Servente Charles XII cheek CHILLON cold dare dark dead death deep dread dream dungeon earth Ezzelin faint falchion fame fate fear feel fell felt fix'd forgot gather'd gazed Geneve Giorgione glance grave grew half hand hath head heard heart heaven Hetman hope horsetails hour Kaled knew Lara Lara's Laura less limbs lips look look'd Mazeppa Minotti mix'd ne'er never night nought numbers o'er once Otho Otho's Parisina pass'd past Pleiad PRISONER OF CHILLON renegado rest roll'd round scarce seem'd seen shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh sire smile soul sound spake steed stood tale tears thee thine things thou thought thousand Turcoman turn'd twas Venice voice wall waves Whate'er wild words wound youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 161 - To him, with eyes as blue as heaven— For him my soul was sorely moved ; And truly might it be...
Sida 157 - MY hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears :+ My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are bann'd, and barr'd — forbidden fare...
Sida 123 - It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word; And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure, ' Which follows the decline of day, As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
Sida 171 - But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing Of gentle breath and hue.
Sida 165 - He faded, and so calm and meek, So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender — kind...
Sida 155 - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom— Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar; for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! — May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
Sida 231 - ... ayant été découverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était du pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Mazeppa demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques paysans le secoururent : il resta longtemps parmi eux, et se signala dans plusieurs courses contre les Tartares.
Sida 166 - In this last loss, of all the most ; And then the sighs he would suppress Of fainting nature's feebleness, More slowly drawn, grew less and less...
Sida 16 - A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped By choice the perils he by chance escaped ; But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet His mind would half exult and half regret...
Sida 201 - I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth. And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South, And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, That not a single accent seems uncouth, Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural, Which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sputter all.