The works of lord Byron, Volym 1 |
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Resultat 1-5 av 21
Sida 22
... Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened ! ( 4 ) Oh ! dome displeasing unto British eye ! With diadem hight foolscap , lo ! a fiend , A little fiend that scoffs incessantly , There sits in parchment robe array'd , and by His side ...
... Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened ! ( 4 ) Oh ! dome displeasing unto British eye ! With diadem hight foolscap , lo ! a fiend , A little fiend that scoffs incessantly , There sits in parchment robe array'd , and by His side ...
Sida 28
... behold the tools , The broken tools , that tyrants cast away By myriads , when they dare to pave their way With human hearts - to what ? -a dream alone . Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? Or call with truth one span of ...
... behold the tools , The broken tools , that tyrants cast away By myriads , when they dare to pave their way With human hearts - to what ? -a dream alone . Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? Or call with truth one span of ...
Sida 35
... behold the hallow'd scene , Which others rave of , though they know it not ? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot , And thou , the Muses ' seat , art now their grave , Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot , Sighs in the gale ...
... behold the hallow'd scene , Which others rave of , though they know it not ? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot , And thou , the Muses ' seat , art now their grave , Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot , Sighs in the gale ...
Sida 51
... Behold through each lack - lustre , eyeless hole , The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit And Passion's host , that never brook'd control : Can all saint , sage , or sophist ever writ , People this lonely tower , this tenement refit ? VII ...
... Behold through each lack - lustre , eyeless hole , The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit And Passion's host , that never brook'd control : Can all saint , sage , or sophist ever writ , People this lonely tower , this tenement refit ? VII ...
Sida 63
... For whatsoever symbol thou art prized , Thou sacerdotal gain , but general loss ! Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross ? XLV . Ambracia's gulf behold , where once was lost CANTO II 63 PILGRIMAGE . If that high world.
... For whatsoever symbol thou art prized , Thou sacerdotal gain , but general loss ! Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross ? XLV . Ambracia's gulf behold , where once was lost CANTO II 63 PILGRIMAGE . If that high world.
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Albania Ali Pacha amongst Arnaout Athens beauty behold beneath blood bosom breast breath brow Cæsar CANTO Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Constantinople dark deem'd deep doth dust dwell earth Epirus eyes fair fame feel foes French gaze Giaours glory gondoliers Greece Greeks hand hath heart heaven hills honour immortal Italian Joannina lake land less light line last live Lord mind mortal mountains Nature's never o'er once pass passion Petrarch plain Pouqueville proud rock Romaic Roman Rome ruin scatter'd scene shore smile song soul spirit spot Stanza star tears thee thine things thou thought Thrasybulus throne tomb Turks Venetian Venice walls waves wind woes ἀπὸ δὲ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς εἰς τὴν Ἑλλήνων ἐν καὶ κατὰ κὴ μὲ νὰ οἱ πῶς σᾶς τὰ τὰς τῇ τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν ὡς
Populära avsnitt
Sida 155 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Sida 207 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Sida 216 - The moon is up, and yet it is not night — Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains ; heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the day joins the past Eternity; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest...
Sida 173 - I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me, High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture...
Sida 174 - Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them?
Sida 251 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony ; And his droop'd head sinks gradually low ; 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.
Sida 166 - The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strew'da scene, which I should see With double joy wert thou with me.
Sida 253 - But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The...
Sida 179 - Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone ; A truth, which through our being then doth melt, And purifies from self : it is a tone, The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm} Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, Binding all things with beauty;— 'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.
Sida 181 - Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye, With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. But where of ye, O tempests! is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest?