The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, 2±Ç |
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12 ÆäÀÌÁö
A long adieu He bids to sober joy that here sojourns : Nought interrupts the riot ,
though in lieu Of true devotion monkish incense burns , And love and prayer
unite , or rule the hour by turns . I LXXII . The lists are oped , the spacious area
clear'd ...
A long adieu He bids to sober joy that here sojourns : Nought interrupts the riot ,
though in lieu Of true devotion monkish incense burns , And love and prayer
unite , or rule the hour by turns . I LXXII . The lists are oped , the spacious area
clear'd ...
19 ÆäÀÌÁö
Little knew she that seeming marble heart , Now mask'd in silence or withheld by
pride , Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art , 4 And spread its snares licentious far
and wide ; Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside , As long as aught was ...
Little knew she that seeming marble heart , Now mask'd in silence or withheld by
pride , Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art , 4 And spread its snares licentious far
and wide ; Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside , As long as aught was ...
31 ÆäÀÌÁö
I turn'd to thee , to thousands , of whom each And one as all a ghastly gap did
make In his own kind and kindred , whom to teach Forgetfulness were mercy for
their sake ; The Archangel's trump , not Glory's , must awake Those whom they
thirst ...
I turn'd to thee , to thousands , of whom each And one as all a ghastly gap did
make In his own kind and kindred , whom to teach Forgetfulness were mercy for
their sake ; The Archangel's trump , not Glory's , must awake Those whom they
thirst ...
32 ÆäÀÌÁö
... which could contemn Men and their thoughts ; ' t was wise to feel , not so To
wear it ever on thy lip and brow , And spurn the instruments thou wert to use Till
they were turn'd unto thine overthrow : ' Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ;
So ...
... which could contemn Men and their thoughts ; ' t was wise to feel , not so To
wear it ever on thy lip and brow , And spurn the instruments thou wert to use Till
they were turn'd unto thine overthrow : ' Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ;
So ...
36 ÆäÀÌÁö
There , in a moment , we may plunge our years In fatal penitence , and in the
blight Of our own soul , turn all our blood to tears , And colour things to come with
hues of Night ; The race of life becomes a hopeless flight To those that walk in ...
There , in a moment , we may plunge our years In fatal penitence , and in the
blight Of our own soul , turn all our blood to tears , And colour things to come with
hues of Night ; The race of life becomes a hopeless flight To those that walk in ...
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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.