Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntMacmillan & Company, 1908 - 136 sidor |
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Sida viii
... Italy - at Venice , Ravenna and Pisa . To this period belong Don Juan , Cain , and A Vision of Judgment . In 1823 he went to the help of the Greeks who were trying to throw off the yoke of Turkey . He served their cause splendidly , but ...
... Italy - at Venice , Ravenna and Pisa . To this period belong Don Juan , Cain , and A Vision of Judgment . In 1823 he went to the help of the Greeks who were trying to throw off the yoke of Turkey . He served their cause splendidly , but ...
Sida xiii
... ITALY Conclusion : Address to the Poet's Daughter n . SS e . ( 110 ) . 2 : e ( 111-118 ) . CANTO FOURTH . VENICE ( 1-18 ) . Thoughts on the poet's griefs ( 19-24 ) . The beauty of ITALY ( 25-26 ) . Evening on THE BRENTA ( 27-29 ) ...
... ITALY Conclusion : Address to the Poet's Daughter n . SS e . ( 110 ) . 2 : e ( 111-118 ) . CANTO FOURTH . VENICE ( 1-18 ) . Thoughts on the poet's griefs ( 19-24 ) . The beauty of ITALY ( 25-26 ) . Evening on THE BRENTA ( 27-29 ) ...
Sida 42
... is here . States fall , arts fade -- but Nature doth not die , Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear , The pleasant place of all festivity , The revel of the earth , the masque of Italy ! IV . But unto us she hath a spell beyond 42.
... is here . States fall , arts fade -- but Nature doth not die , Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear , The pleasant place of all festivity , The revel of the earth , the masque of Italy ! IV . But unto us she hath a spell beyond 42.
Sida 50
... Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world , the home Of all Art yields , and Nature can decree ; Even in thy desert , what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful , thy waste More rich than other climes ' fertility ; Thy wreck a ...
... Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world , the home Of all Art yields , and Nature can decree ; Even in thy desert , what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful , thy waste More rich than other climes ' fertility ; Thy wreck a ...
Sida 57
... Italy ! through every other land Thy wrongs should ring , and shall , from side to side Mother of Arts ! as once of arms ; thy hand Was then our guardian , and is still our guide ; Parent of our religion ! whom the wide Nations have ...
... Italy ! through every other land Thy wrongs should ring , and shall , from side to side Mother of Arts ! as once of arms ; thy hand Was then our guardian , and is still our guide ; Parent of our religion ! whom the wide Nations have ...
Vanliga ord och fraser
Aeneid Alps Apollo Belvedere arch Arqua Aventicum Bard beauty beheld beneath blood bosom bow'd breast breath bright brow Bucentaur Byron Canto Capitoline Museum charm Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE CLIFTON COLLEGE clouds crown darkness dead death deep desolate didst dome doth dust dwell earth Edited Egeria English Eternity eyes fair fall fame feel Florence foes gaze glory glow gondolier grave Greek hath heart heaven hues hyæna Idlesse immortal Italy J. H. FOWLER lake lake of Geneva Latian light lived mind mortal mountains Napoleon Nature Nature's night o'er ocean passion Petrarch poem poet proud Rhine rise rock Roman Rome ruin scatter'd scene shine shore smile song soul spirit stand stanza stars stream sweet Symplegades tears temple thee thine things thou thought throne thunder thunderstrike tomb tree tyrants unto Venetian Venice victory walls Waterloo waves wert wild wind woes word youth
Populära avsnitt
Sida 10 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...
Sida 88 - He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday — All this rushed with his blood — shall he expire, And unavenged?
Sida 26 - 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 31 - Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep; and drawing near, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more...
Sida 32 - All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — All heaven and earth are still : — From the high host Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, All is concenter'd in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence, xc.
Sida 77 - There is the moral of all human tales ; Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page...
Sida 101 - His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His pretty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: — there let him lay.
Sida 1 - Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, * But with a hope.
Sida 102 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals; The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war...
Sida 68 - Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow. Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress!