The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, 2±Ç |
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Is an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of Miss Milbanke . Dec. 2. Publishes The
Bride of Abydos . ' - 13. Writes ¡¤ The Devil's Drive . ' - 17. And Two Sonnets to
Genevra .'-- 18 . Begins . The Corsair .'— 31 . Finishes • The Corsair . ' ! 1814 - (
26 ) .
Is an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of Miss Milbanke . Dec. 2. Publishes The
Bride of Abydos . ' - 13. Writes ¡¤ The Devil's Drive . ' - 17. And Two Sonnets to
Genevra .'-- 18 . Begins . The Corsair .'— 31 . Finishes • The Corsair . ' ! 1814 - (
26 ) .
x ÆäÀÌÁö
Is an unsuccessful sultor for the hand of Miss Milbanke . Dec. 2. Publishes ¡¤ The
Bride of Abydos . ' – -13 . Writes ¡¤ The Devil's Drive . ' - 17. And Two Sonnets to
Genevra .'- 18 . Begins . The Corsair .'- 31 . Finishes ¡¤ The Corsair . ' Feb. Apr.
May ...
Is an unsuccessful sultor for the hand of Miss Milbanke . Dec. 2. Publishes ¡¤ The
Bride of Abydos . ' – -13 . Writes ¡¤ The Devil's Drive . ' - 17. And Two Sonnets to
Genevra .'- 18 . Begins . The Corsair .'- 31 . Finishes ¡¤ The Corsair . ' Feb. Apr.
May ...
6 ÆäÀÌÁö
And to the Lusians did her aid afford : A nation swoln with ignorance and pride ,
Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of
Gaul's unsparing lord . " XX . Then slowly climb the many - winding way , And ...
And to the Lusians did her aid afford : A nation swoln with ignorance and pride ,
Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of
Gaul's unsparing lord . " XX . Then slowly climb the many - winding way , And ...
18 ÆäÀÌÁö
Little reck'd he of all that men regret ; No loved - one now in feign'd lament could
rave ; Vo friend the parting hand extended gave , Ere the cold stranger pass'd to
other ciimes : Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave ; But Harold felt ...
Little reck'd he of all that men regret ; No loved - one now in feign'd lament could
rave ; Vo friend the parting hand extended gave , Ere the cold stranger pass'd to
other ciimes : Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave ; But Harold felt ...
20 ÆäÀÌÁö
24th , " says Mr. Hobhouse , ¡° we were in the channel , with Ithaca , then in the
hands of the French , to the west of us . We were close to it , and saw a few
shrubs on a brown heathy land , two little towns in the hills , scat . tered amongst
trees ...
24th , " says Mr. Hobhouse , ¡° we were in the channel , with Ithaca , then in the
hands of the French , to the west of us . We were close to it , and saw a few
shrubs on a brown heathy land , two little towns in the hills , scat . tered amongst
trees ...
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answer appear arms bear beauty beneath better blood breast breath Cain chief child dare dark dead death deep Doge doubt earth Enter face fair fall fate father fear feel foes give hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour Italy king land late least leave less light lines live look Lord Byron Lucifer means meet mind mortal mountains nature ne'er never night noble o'er once pass passion perhaps poem present rest rise round scarce scene seems seen smile soul sound speak spirit tears tell thee thine things thou thought thousand true turn voice walls waters wave wild Writes young youth
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51 ÆäÀÌÁö - Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime; The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible: even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
22 ÆäÀÌÁö - And there was mounting in hot haste— the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war — And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the Morning Star ; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips — 'The foe! They come! they come!' XXVI And wild and high the 'Cameron's Gathering
53 ÆäÀÌÁö - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...
22 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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...
22 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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...
28 ÆäÀÌÁö - The sky is changed! - and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
22 ÆäÀÌÁö - Cameron's gathering' rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their...
22 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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 Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope shall moulder cold and low.
34 ÆäÀÌÁö - And even since, and now, fair Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature (') can decree ; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste ; More rich than other climes' fertility ; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.
22 ÆäÀÌÁö - But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears; to all who ever bore.