Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntMacmillan & Company, 1908 - 136 sidor |
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Resultat 1-5 av 23
Sida 3
... breast which fain no more would feel , Wrung with the wounds which kill not , but ne'er heal ; Yet time , who changes all , had alter'd him In soul and aspect as in age : years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb ; And ...
... breast which fain no more would feel , Wrung with the wounds which kill not , but ne'er heal ; Yet time , who changes all , had alter'd him In soul and aspect as in age : years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb ; And ...
Sida 6
... breast and beak against his wiry dome Till the blood tinge his plumage , so the heat Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat . XVI . Self - exiled Harold wanders forth again , With nought of hope left , but with less of gloom ...
... breast and beak against his wiry dome Till the blood tinge his plumage , so the heat Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat . XVI . Self - exiled Harold wanders forth again , With nought of hope left , but with less of gloom ...
Sida 10
... deadliest the thinn'd files along , Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd , They reach'd no nobler breast than thine , young gallant Howard ! XXX . There have been tears and breaking hearts for 10 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE .
... deadliest the thinn'd files along , Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd , They reach'd no nobler breast than thine , young gallant Howard ! XXX . There have been tears and breaking hearts for 10 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE .
Sida 15
... breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule : XLIV . Their breath is agitation , and their life A storm whereon they ride , to sink at last , And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife , That should ...
... breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule : XLIV . Their breath is agitation , and their life A storm whereon they ride , to sink at last , And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife , That should ...
Sida 18
... he felt , For there was soft remembrance , and sweet trust In one fond breast , to which his own would melt , And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt . LIV . And he had learn'd to love , -I 18 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE .
... he felt , For there was soft remembrance , and sweet trust In one fond breast , to which his own would melt , And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt . LIV . And he had learn'd to love , -I 18 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE .
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!