The works of lord Byron, comprehending the suppressed poems, 5-6±Ç |
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24 ÆäÀÌÁö
... thou mark or ask ? " I shun no question and I wear no mask . ¡± 436 " Thou shun'st no question ! Ponder - is there ... art — nay , frown not , lord , ¡° If false , ' tis easy to disprove the word— " But , as thou wast and art , on ...
... thou mark or ask ? " I shun no question and I wear no mask . ¡± 436 " Thou shun'st no question ! Ponder - is there ... art — nay , frown not , lord , ¡° If false , ' tis easy to disprove the word— " But , as thou wast and art , on ...
25 ÆäÀÌÁö
George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) " Art thou not he ? whose deeds-- " " Whate'er I be , 455 465 " Words wild as these , accusers like to thee " I list no further ; those with whom they weigh " May hear the rest , nor venture to ...
George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) " Art thou not he ? whose deeds-- " " Whate'er I be , 455 465 " Words wild as these , accusers like to thee " I list no further ; those with whom they weigh " May hear the rest , nor venture to ...
97 ÆäÀÌÁö
... a lady , youthful and bright ! XX . He started up with more of fear Than if an armed foe were near . " God of my fathers ! what is here ? VOL . V. 5 481 485 199 " Who art thou , and wherefore sent " So THE SIEGE OF CORINTH . 97.
... a lady , youthful and bright ! XX . He started up with more of fear Than if an armed foe were near . " God of my fathers ! what is here ? VOL . V. 5 481 485 199 " Who art thou , and wherefore sent " So THE SIEGE OF CORINTH . 97.
98 ÆäÀÌÁö
George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) " Who art thou , and wherefore sent " So near a hostile armament ? ¡± His trembling hands refused to sign The cross he deem'd no more divine : He had resumed it in that hour , But conscience wrung away ...
George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) " Who art thou , and wherefore sent " So near a hostile armament ? ¡± His trembling hands refused to sign The cross he deem'd no more divine : He had resumed it in that hour , But conscience wrung away ...
102 ÆäÀÌÁö
... thy faithless brow , and swear " Thine injured country's sons to spare , " Or thou art lost ; and never shalt see , " Not earth - that's past - but heaven or me . " It this thou dost accord , albeit " A heavy doom ' tis thine to meet ...
... thy faithless brow , and swear " Thine injured country's sons to spare , " Or thou art lost ; and never shalt see , " Not earth - that's past - but heaven or me . " It this thou dost accord , albeit " A heavy doom ' tis thine to meet ...
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ABBOT Alhama apostolic palace art thou ASTARTE beautiful behold beneath Beppo blood Bonnivard bosom breast breath brow call'd Cavalier Servente CHAMOIS clouds cold courser dare dark Darvell dead death deep doth dread dream earth Ezzelin falchion fame fate fear feel fell fix'd forget gazed glance glory grave grew grief hand hast hath heard heart heaven Hetman hope hour immortal knew Lara Lara's light limbs lips living lonely look look'd LORD BYRON MANFRED Mazeppa mortal mountain ne'er never night numbers o'er once Otho pain Parisina pass'd past scarce scene seem'd shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh silent sleep smile sorrow soul sound spirit star steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought turn'd twas twere twill Venice voice wall waves weep Whate'er wild wither'd words youth ¬¡¬Ó¬Ó¬à¬ä
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124 ÆäÀÌÁö - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 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.
125 ÆäÀÌÁö - But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
184 ÆäÀÌÁö - With spiders I had friendship made, And watch'd them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they ? We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell ! In quiet we had learn'd to dwell. My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are ; — even I Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.
125 ÆäÀÌÁö - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord...
100 ÆäÀÌÁö - 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.
99 ÆäÀÌÁö - She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
183 ÆäÀÌÁö - And then there was a little isle, Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view ; A small green isle, it seem'd no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue.
176 ÆäÀÌÁö - Was as a mockery of the tomb, Whose tints as gently sunk away As a departing rainbow's ray; An eye of most transparent light, That almost made the dungeon bright, And not a word of murmur, not A groan o'er his untimely lot...
209 ÆäÀÌÁö - If it be life to wear within myself This barrenness of spirit, and to be My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased To justify my deeds unto myself — The last infirmity of evil.
230 ÆäÀÌÁö - They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well : Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell.