The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 |
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Sida 4
... Twas all they knew , that Lara was not there ; Nor sent , nor came he , till conjecture grew Cold in the many , anxious in the few . His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name , His portrait darkens in its fading frame , Another chief ...
... Twas all they knew , that Lara was not there ; Nor sent , nor came he , till conjecture grew Cold in the many , anxious in the few . His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name , His portrait darkens in its fading frame , Another chief ...
Sida 6
... twas not what he had been : That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last , And spake of passions , but of passion past : The pride , but not the fire , of early days , Coldness of mien , and carelessness of praise ; A high demeanour ...
... twas not what he had been : That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last , And spake of passions , but of passion past : The pride , but not the fire , of early days , Coldness of mien , and carelessness of praise ; A high demeanour ...
Sida 8
... Twas strange - in youth all action and all life , Burning for pleasure , not averse from strife ; Woman - the field - the ocean - all that gave Promise of gladness , peril of a grave , In turn he tried - he ransack'd all below , And ...
... Twas strange - in youth all action and all life , Burning for pleasure , not averse from strife ; Woman - the field - the ocean - all that gave Promise of gladness , peril of a grave , In turn he tried - he ransack'd all below , And ...
Sida 11
... Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes , Save vague tradition ; and the gloomy vaults That hid their dust , their foibles , and their faults ; And half a column of the pompous page , That speeds the specious tale from age to age ...
... Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes , Save vague tradition ; and the gloomy vaults That hid their dust , their foibles , and their faults ; And half a column of the pompous page , That speeds the specious tale from age to age ...
Sida 12
... Twas midnight - all was slumber ; the lone light Dimm'd in the lamp , as loth to break the night . Hark ! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall— A sound - a voice - a shriek - a fearful call ! A long , loud shriek - and silence - did ...
... Twas midnight - all was slumber ; the lone light Dimm'd in the lamp , as loth to break the night . Hark ! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall— A sound - a voice - a shriek - a fearful call ! A long , loud shriek - and silence - did ...
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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.