Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt |
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Side xv
Not in those climes where I have late been straying , Though Beauty long hath
there been matchless deem'd , Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms
which it sighs but to have only dream'd , Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy ...
Not in those climes where I have late been straying , Though Beauty long hath
there been matchless deem'd , Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms
which it sighs but to have only dream'd , Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy ...
Side xvi
tis well for me My years already doubly number thine ; My loveless eye unmoved
may gaze on thee , And safely view thy ripening beauties shine ; Happy , I ne'er
shall see them in decline ; Happier , that while all younger hearts shall bleed ...
tis well for me My years already doubly number thine ; My loveless eye unmoved
may gaze on thee , And safely view thy ripening beauties shine ; Happy , I ne'er
shall see them in decline ; Happier , that while all younger hearts shall bleed ...
Side 5
And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart , And from his fellow bacchanals
would flee ; ' Tis said , at times the sullen tear would start , But Pride congeal'd the
drop within his ee : Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie , 4 And from his native land
...
And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart , And from his fellow bacchanals
would flee ; ' Tis said , at times the sullen tear would start , But Pride congeal'd the
drop within his ee : Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie , 4 And from his native land
...
Side 6
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel : 6 Ye , who have known what '
tis to dote upon A few dear objects , will in sadness feel Such partings break the
heart they fondly hope to heal . XI . 7 His house , his home , his heritage , his
lands ...
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel : 6 Ye , who have known what '
tis to dote upon A few dear objects , will in sadness feel Such partings break the
heart they fondly hope to heal . XI . 7 His house , his home , his heritage , his
lands ...
Side 20
Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools , The broken tools , that tyrants cast
away By myriads , when they dare to pave their way With human hearts — to
what ? -a dream alone . Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? Or
call with ...
Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools , The broken tools , that tyrants cast
away By myriads , when they dare to pave their way With human hearts — to
what ? -a dream alone . Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? Or
call with ...
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Volum 1 George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1885 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
amongst ancient appear Athens bear beauty behold beneath better blood breast called CANTO Childe church dark dead death deep earth fair fall fame feel foes French gaze Greek hand Harold hath heard heart Heaven hills honour hope hour human Italy lake land late least leave less light line 9 live look Lord Byron lost memory mind mountains Nature never o'er observed once pass perhaps plain poet present remains rise rock Roman Rome round says scene seems seen shore side song soul spirit stand stanzas stream tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb traveller tree true turn Venice voice walls waters waves whole wild young
Populære avsnitt
Side 242 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests: in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 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.
Side 151 - And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and' far delight,— A portion of the tempest and of thee...
Side 190 - Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, Albion ! to thee : the Ocean queen should not Abandon Ocean's children ; in the fall Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. I loved her from my boyhood — she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart...
Side 134 - Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine : Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong...
Side 145 - The life she lived in; but the judge was just, And then she died on him she could not save. Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one dust.
Side 212 - The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago ; The Scipios...
Side 242 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Side 143 - 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, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strew'da scene, which I should see With double joy wert thou with me.
Side 212 - The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss. And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set...
Side 145 - When elements to elements conform, And dust is as it should be, shall I not Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm? The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot? Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot?
Bibliografisk informasjon
| Tittel | Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt |
| Forfatter | George Gordon Byron Baron Byron |
| Utgiver | J. Murray, 1853 |
| Original fra | Harvard University |
| Digitalisert | 24. feb 2006 |
| Lengde | 311 sider |
| Eksporter sitat | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |