The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 |
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Sida 9
... , " Since Alexander's days till now , " As thy Bucephalus and thou : " All Scythia's fame to thine should yield " For pricking on o'er flood and field . ” Mazeppa answer'd- " Ill betide " The school wherein I MAZEPPA . 6.
... , " Since Alexander's days till now , " As thy Bucephalus and thou : " All Scythia's fame to thine should yield " For pricking on o'er flood and field . ” Mazeppa answer'd- " Ill betide " The school wherein I MAZEPPA . 6.
Sida 10
... thine , and I may reap , " Perchance , from this the boon of sleep , " For at this moment from my eyes " The hope of present slumber flies . " " Well , sire , with such a hope , I'll track 66 My seventy years of memory back : " I think ...
... thine , and I may reap , " Perchance , from this the boon of sleep , " For at this moment from my eyes " The hope of present slumber flies . " " Well , sire , with such a hope , I'll track 66 My seventy years of memory back : " I think ...
Sida 50
... thine adjuration bow'd , Mortal - be thy wish avow'd ! Voice of the SECOND SPIRIT . Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains , They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks , in a robe of clouds , With a diadem of snow . Around his waist ...
... thine adjuration bow'd , Mortal - be thy wish avow'd ! Voice of the SECOND SPIRIT . Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains , They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks , in a robe of clouds , With a diadem of snow . Around his waist ...
Sida 53
... thine , And lent thee but to make thee mine ) For this brief moment to descend , Where these weak spirits round thee bend And parley with a thing like thee— What woudlst thou , Child of Clay ! with me ? The SEVEN SPIRITS . Earth , ocean ...
... thine , And lent thee but to make thee mine ) For this brief moment to descend , Where these weak spirits round thee bend And parley with a thing like thee— What woudlst thou , Child of Clay ! with me ? The SEVEN SPIRITS . Earth , ocean ...
Sida 54
... thine , MAN . Oblivion , self - oblivion- Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms Ye offer so profusely what I ask ? SPIRIT . It is not in our essence , in our skill ;. But - thou mayst die . MAN . Will death bestow it on me ...
... thine , MAN . Oblivion , self - oblivion- Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms Ye offer so profusely what I ask ? SPIRIT . It is not in our essence , in our skill ;. But - thou mayst die . MAN . Will death bestow it on me ...
Andra upplagor - Visa alla
The works of ... lord Byron, Volym 4 George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1816 |
The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1823 |
The works of lord Byron, Volym 4 George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Obegränsad förhandsgranskning - 1830 |
Vanliga ord och fraser
ABBOT Abydos Alhama Alhambra answer'd Arimanes art thou ASTARTE Ay de mi beautiful behold beneath blood breast breath bright brow call'd CHAMOIS clay clouds cold dare dark dead death deem'd deep despair dost doth dread dream dwell earth eyes fear feel gaze glory Granada grave hand hath heart heaven Hetman hour immortal King knew light limbs live lonely look MANFRED Mariamne Mazeppa mind monarch MONODY mortal mountain mourn ne'er never Newstead Abbey night o'er once pain pang pass'd Pausanias Pindus R. B. SHERIDAN SCENE sigh silent sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit star steed sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thou wert thought throne thyself torture Twas Twere twill voice waves weep wild WITCH wither'd wouldst youth ἀγαπῶ Ζώη ΜΑΝ Аввот
Populära avsnitt
Sida 122 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
Sida 118 - There were giants in the earth in those days ; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.
Sida 154 - That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed...
Sida 72 - It is not noon — the sunbow's rays ' still arch The torrent with the many hues of heaven, And roll the sheeted silver's waving column O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular, And fling its lines of foaming light along, And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death, As told in the Apocalypse.
Sida 237 - As once I wept, if I could weep My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed; To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Sida 320 - They slept on the abyss, without a surge, — The waves were dead : the tides were in their grave: The moon, their mistress, had expired before : The winds were withered in the stagnant air, And the clouds perished: Darkness had no need Of aid from them — she was the universe.
Sida 235 - I will not ask where thou liest low, Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, Like common earth can rot; To me there needs no stone to tell, Tis nothing that I loved so well.
Sida 62 - But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will Till our mortality predominates, And men are — what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other.
Sida 130 - Away ; we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress : Will this unteach us to complain ? Or make one mourner weep the less ? And thou — who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
Sida 109 - Rome ; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber ; and More near from out the Caesars...