The poetical works of lord Byron, with lifeGall & Inglis, 1859 - 576페이지 |
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ix 페이지
... feel himself called upon to be so ; no one expects him to be a participator there , and the position of an onlooker , which would have been false at home , becomes true and natural abroad . Already in the autumn of 1808 , Byron had ...
... feel himself called upon to be so ; no one expects him to be a participator there , and the position of an onlooker , which would have been false at home , becomes true and natural abroad . Already in the autumn of 1808 , Byron had ...
x 페이지
... feel tolerably miserable , yet I am at the same time subject to a kind of hysterical merriment , or rather laughter without merriment , which I can neither account for nor conquer Moore's Life of Byron , vol . v . , p . 129 . and yet I ...
... feel tolerably miserable , yet I am at the same time subject to a kind of hysterical merriment , or rather laughter without merriment , which I can neither account for nor conquer Moore's Life of Byron , vol . v . , p . 129 . and yet I ...
xi 페이지
... feel relieved by it , but an indifferent person would think me in excellent spirits . " On the 27th February 1812 Byron made his first speech in the House of Lords , on the Nottingham Frame - breaking Bill ; and two days afterwards the ...
... feel relieved by it , but an indifferent person would think me in excellent spirits . " On the 27th February 1812 Byron made his first speech in the House of Lords , on the Nottingham Frame - breaking Bill ; and two days afterwards the ...
3 페이지
... feel convinced that these trifles will not be treated with injustice . Their merit , if they possess any , will be liberally allowed : their numerous faults , on the other hand , cannot expect that favour which has been denied to others ...
... feel convinced that these trifles will not be treated with injustice . Their merit , if they possess any , will be liberally allowed : their numerous faults , on the other hand , cannot expect that favour which has been denied to others ...
5 페이지
... feel , Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate ! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal , Not here the muse her virtues would relate . But wherefore weep ? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day ...
... feel , Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate ! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal , Not here the muse her virtues would relate . But wherefore weep ? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day ...
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adieu Albania ANACREON Athens bard beauty behold beneath blest blood bosom breast breath brow Byron Calmar CATULLUS cheek Childe Harold clouds dare dark dead dear death deeds deep dread dream dwell earth Edinburgh Review fair falchion fame fate fear feel fix'd foes forget gaze Giaour glance glory glow grave Greece grief hand hast hate hath heard heart heaven hope hour kiss land Lara's lips live lonely look Lord Lord Byron lyre mingle mortal mountain muse ne'er never Newstead Abbey night numbers o'er once Parisina pass'd passion perchance poem pride Samian wine scarce scene seem'd shine shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh slave sleep smile song soothe soul spirit sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought tomb turn'd twas twill voice wall wave weep wild wind wing words young youth Zuleika
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388 페이지 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
447 페이지 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
491 페이지 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one ? You have the letters Cadmus gave — Think ye he meant them for a slave ? Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
490 페이지 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
491 페이지 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! We will not think of themes like these ! It made Anacreon's song divine: He served — but served Polycrates : A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen.
463 페이지 - THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee ; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming, And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep ; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep...
284 페이지 - I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise For years — I cannot count them o'er, I lost their long and heavy score When my last brother droop'd and died. And I lay living by his side. They chain'd us each to a column stone, And we were three — yet, each alone : We could not move a single pace, We could not see each other's face. But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight...
397 페이지 - The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine...
404 페이지 - He is an evening reveller who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still, There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil. Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
283 페이지 - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God.