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With Byron in Italy: Being a Selection of the Poems and Letter of Lord Byron ...
Baron George Gordon Byron Byron
Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2016
A. C. McCLURG Abbot Adah aught bard beautiful blood breast brow bust Byron Cain Canto Childe Harold clime Column of Phocas Dante dead dear death didst Doge Don Juan doth dust earth England English eternal eyes face fame father feel Florence Foscari friends Gallery Genoa gentle glory grave Greece Guiccioli hath heart heaven Hobhouse honour hour Hunt immortal Italian Italy JOHN MURRAY lady least Leigh Hunt less letter live look Lord Lord Byron Lucifer Manfred marble Michel Angelo mind mortal mountains ne'er never night o'er ocean once palace passions perhaps Pisa poem poet poetry published Pulci Ravenna Romagna Rome Samian wine scene seen Shelley shore soul spirit stanza stars sweet Tasso thee thine things THOMAS MOORE thou art thought tomb tree tyrant vellum Venetian Venice verse walls wave woes youth
Sida 103 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. LXXIX. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within...
Sida 104 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped 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 hailed the wretch who won.
Sida 60 - 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...
Sida 283 - Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae...
Sida 282 - The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse : Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires'
Sida 104 - But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone, with nothing like to thee — Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be, Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
Sida 284 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one?
Sida 104 - But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam; And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And...
Sida 104 - Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, The loudest still the tempest leaves behind; Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth, But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North; So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth.
Sida 104 - Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; And why? It is not lessen'd ; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.