The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 |
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Sida 10
... waves their channel make In windings bright and mazy like the snake . All was so still , so soft in earth and air , You scarce would start to meet a spirit there ; Secure that nought of evil could delight To walk in such a scene , on ...
... waves their channel make In windings bright and mazy like the snake . All was so still , so soft in earth and air , You scarce would start to meet a spirit there ; Secure that nought of evil could delight To walk in such a scene , on ...
Sida 30
... wave , And quench'd existence crouches in a grave . What better name may slumber's bed become ? Night's sepulchre , the universal home , Where weakness , strength , vice , virtue , sunk supine , Alike in naked helplessness recline ...
... wave , And quench'd existence crouches in a grave . What better name may slumber's bed become ? Night's sepulchre , the universal home , Where weakness , strength , vice , virtue , sunk supine , Alike in naked helplessness recline ...
Sida 46
... all , Where foe appear'd to press , or friend to fall , Cheers Lara's voice , and waves or strikes his steel , Inspiring hope himself had ceased to feel . None fled , for well they knew that flight were 46 CANTO II . LARA .
... all , Where foe appear'd to press , or friend to fall , Cheers Lara's voice , and waves or strikes his steel , Inspiring hope himself had ceased to feel . None fled , for well they knew that flight were 46 CANTO II . LARA .
Sida 71
... waves grow smoother to the roar . The trench is dug , the cannon's breath Wings the far hissing globe of death ; Fast whirl the fragments from the wall , Which crumbles with the ponderous ball ; And from that wall the foe replies , O'er ...
... waves grow smoother to the roar . The trench is dug , the cannon's breath Wings the far hissing globe of death ; Fast whirl the fragments from the wall , Which crumbles with the ponderous ball ; And from that wall the foe replies , O'er ...
Sida 78
... waves on either shore lay there Calm , clear , and azure as the air ; And scarce their foam the pebbles shook , But murmur'd meekly as the brook . The winds were pillow'd on the waves ; The banners droop'd along their staves , And , as ...
... waves on either shore lay there Calm , clear , and azure as the air ; And scarce their foam the pebbles shook , But murmur'd meekly as the brook . The winds were pillow'd on the waves ; The banners droop'd along their staves , And , as ...
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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.