« 이전계속 »
War, war is still the cry, — " war even to the knife!"1
Chiltle Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 86.
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that
were. Canto ii. Stanza 2.
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! ibid.
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. ibid.
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul.3 Stanza 6.
Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
Stanza 26. Cooped in their winged, sea-girt citadel. Stanza 28.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not,
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state;
An hour may lay it in the dust. Stanza 84.
Land of lost gods and godlike men. Stanza 85.
i "War even to the knife," was the reply of Palafox, the governor of Saragossa, when summoned to surrender by the French, who besieged that city in 1808.
1 And keeps that palace of the soul. — Waller, Of Tea.
Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.
Ckilde Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 88.
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
Canto Co stanza 1.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
I am as a weed,
Years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb; And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell. Stanza 21.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined. Stanza 22.
And there was mounting in hot haste. Stanza 25.
Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come!" Ibid.
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave. Stanza 27.
Battle's magnificently stern array. Stanza 28.
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on. Childs Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 32.
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
Must look down on the hate of those below. Smnza 45.
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.
The castled crag of Drachenfels
He had kept
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o’er him wept.
But there are Wanderers o’er Eternity
Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne’er shall
be. By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.
I live not in myself, but I become
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing
On the ear
All is concentred in a life intense,
In solitude, where we are least alone.
1 I am a part of all that I have met.- Tennyson, Ulysses.
The sky is changed, — and such a change! O night,
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza D2.
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer. Stanza 107. I have not loved the world, nor the world me.1
Stanza 113. I stood Among them, but not of them. Ibid.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand. Canto iv. Stanza 1.
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles. ibid.
The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree
O for one hour of blind old Dandolo,
The octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe ! a
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly
bound. Stanza 23.
The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourned, the loved, the lost, — too many, yet how few! Stanza 24.
1 I never have sought the world; the world was not to seek me.
Boswell's Johnson, An. 1783. 1 Compare Wordsworth. Page 412.
Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till — 't is gone — and all is
gray. Childt Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 29.
The Ariosto of the North. Stanza 40.
Italia! O Italia! thou who hast
The fatal gift of beauty.1 Stanza 42.
Fills The air around with beauty. Stanza 49.
Let these describe the undescribable. Stanza 53.
The starry Galileo with his woes. Stanza M.
The poetry of speech. Stanza 58.
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss.
The Niobe of nations! there she stands. Stanza 79.
Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Heaven gives its favourites — early death.9 Stanza 102.
Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. Stanza 109.
Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast. Stanza 115.
The nympholepsy of some fond despair. Ibid.
1 A translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja: Italia, Italia, o tu cui feo la sorte I
* Compare Don Juan, Canto iv. Stanza 12. Page 488.