Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntG.S. Appleton, 1851 - 287 sidor |
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Sida 12
... hours decreed . Oh ! let that eye , which , wild as the Gazelle's , Now brightly bold or beautifully shy , Wins as it wanders , dazzles where it dwells , Glance o'er this page , nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might ...
... hours decreed . Oh ! let that eye , which , wild as the Gazelle's , Now brightly bold or beautifully shy , Wins as it wanders , dazzles where it dwells , Glance o'er this page , nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might ...
Sida 16
... hour ; The heartless parasites of present cheer . Yea ! none did love him - not his lemans dear— But pomp and power alone are woman's care , And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; Maidens , like moths , are ever caught by glare ...
... hour ; The heartless parasites of present cheer . Yea ! none did love him - not his lemans dear— But pomp and power alone are woman's care , And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; Maidens , like moths , are ever caught by glare ...
Sida 17
... roar , And shrieks the wild sea - mew . Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight ; Farewell awhile to him and thee , My native Land - Good Night ! B * 2 " A few short hours and he will rise CANTO I. 17 PILGRIMAGE .
... roar , And shrieks the wild sea - mew . Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight ; Farewell awhile to him and thee , My native Land - Good Night ! B * 2 " A few short hours and he will rise CANTO I. 17 PILGRIMAGE .
Sida 18
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. 2 " A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main and skies , But not my mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; While ...
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. 2 " A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main and skies , But not my mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; While ...
Sida 31
... hour ! ' Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood Is vain , or Ilion , Tyre might yet ... hours consume , Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds : Nor here War's clarion , but Love's rebeck sounds ...
... hour ! ' Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood Is vain , or Ilion , Tyre might yet ... hours consume , Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds : Nor here War's clarion , but Love's rebeck sounds ...
Andra upplagor - Visa alla
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1881 |
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1853 |
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1863 |
Vanliga ord och fraser
Albania Ali Pacha amidst amongst ancient Ariosto Arqua Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cæsar CANTO Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Chioza church Cicero Comitium dark death deem'd deep doth dust dwell earth edit Egeria fair fall fame fate feel Ficus Ruminalis gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope hour immortal Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake land less light live Lord mind mortal mountains Nardini ne'er never o'er once pass pass'd passion Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Roman Rome ruin scatter'd scene seems seen shore sigh smile song soul spirit spot STANZA Storia stream Suetonius Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought throne tomb triumph Turks tyrants valley Venetians Venice walls waves winds woes wolf words youth καὶ
Populära avsnitt
Sida 121 - And this is in the night. — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — A portion of the tempest and of thee ! How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Sida 120 - 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...
Sida 119 - Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
Sida 198 - Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted — Can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.
Sida 122 - Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me, — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe— into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
Sida 91 - Welcome to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead !' Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on : for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Sida 100 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent!
Sida 179 - Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, And fevers into false creation : — where, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? In him alone. Can Nature show so fair...
Sida 162 - The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, LXX.
Sida 184 - But I have lived, and have not lived in vain ; My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire; And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire...