Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt. Campe's ed |
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Sida 46
... dust before it flies : That little urn saith more than thousand homilies . v . Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound ; Far on the solitary shore he sleeps : 3 ) He fell , and falling nations mourn'd around ; But now not one of ...
... dust before it flies : That little urn saith more than thousand homilies . v . Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound ; Far on the solitary shore he sleeps : 3 ) He fell , and falling nations mourn'd around ; But now not one of ...
Sida 49
... dust they loved ; Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Thy walls defaced , thy mouldering shrines re- moved By British hands , which it had best behoved To guard those relics ne'er to be restored . Curst be the hour when from their ...
... dust they loved ; Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Thy walls defaced , thy mouldering shrines re- moved By British hands , which it had best behoved To guard those relics ne'er to be restored . Curst be the hour when from their ...
Sida 69
... dust : and when Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate , Recal its virtues back , and vanquish Time and Fate ? LXXXV . And yet how lovely in thine age of woe , Land of lost gods and godlike men ! art thou ! Thy vales of evergreen ...
... dust : and when Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate , Recal its virtues back , and vanquish Time and Fate ? LXXXV . And yet how lovely in thine age of woe , Land of lost gods and godlike men ! art thou ! Thy vales of evergreen ...
Sida 71
... dust thy courser's hoof , rude stranger ! spurns around . XCI . Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past Shall pilgrims , pensive , but unwearied throng ; Long shall the voyager , with th ' Ionian blast , Hail the bright clime of ...
... dust thy courser's hoof , rude stranger ! spurns around . XCI . Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past Shall pilgrims , pensive , but unwearied throng ; Long shall the voyager , with th ' Ionian blast , Hail the bright clime of ...
Sida 89
... dust to destroy your embroide . red hose . The last stanza would puzzle a commentator ; the men have certainly buskins of the most beau- tiful texture , but the ladies ( to whom the above is supposed to be addressed ) have nothing under ...
... dust to destroy your embroide . red hose . The last stanza would puzzle a commentator ; the men have certainly buskins of the most beau- tiful texture , but the ladies ( to whom the above is supposed to be addressed ) have nothing under ...
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, a Romaunt. Campe's Ed George Gordon N Byron (6th Baron ) Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2015 |
Vanliga ord och fraser
Albania Ali Pacha amongst ancient Arqua Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Canto Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero Constantinople dark death deem'd doth dust earth Egeria fair fame feel foes gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope immortal Italian Italy lake land line last live Lord mind mortal mountains ne'er never o'er once pass Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Romaic Roman Rome scene seen shore sigh smile song soul spot Stanza Storia Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb triumph tyrants Venetian Venice walls waves wild woes wolf ἂν ἀπὸ δὲ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς εἰς τὴν ἐν ἡμεῖς καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ οἱ σᾶς τὰ τὰς τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν ὡς
Populära avsnitt
Sida 165 - 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...
Sida 224 - 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 160 - Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Is not the love of these deep in my heart With a pure passion?
Sida 163 - Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction : once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have...
Sida 225 - 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, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday— All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Sida 151 - Away with these ! true Wisdom's world will be Within its own creation, or in thine, Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee, Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine ? There Harold gazes on a work divine, A blending of all beauties ; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.
Sida 47 - But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude.
Sida 145 - And human frailties, were forgotten quite : Could he have kept his spirit to that flight He had been happy ; but this clay will sink Its spark immortal, envying it the light To which it mounts, as if to break the link That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.
Sida 194 - gainst the Alpine shocks Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks The howling tempest, till its height and frame Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same.
Sida 151 - 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 their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.