Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntJ. Murray, 1853 - 311 sider |
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Side
... leave , once for al . , diku Hand is the child of imagination , for the yprus dure stated . In some very trivial particu- Aude , and those merely local , there might be grounds for much anticu , but in the main points , I should kuopa ...
... leave , once for al . , diku Hand is the child of imagination , for the yprus dure stated . In some very trivial particu- Aude , and those merely local , there might be grounds for much anticu , but in the main points , I should kuopa ...
Side vi
... leave , once for all , to disclaim - Harold is the child of imagination , for the purpose I have stated . In some very trivial particu- lars , and those merely local , there might be grounds . for such a notion ; but in the main points ...
... leave , once for all , to disclaim - Harold is the child of imagination , for the purpose I have stated . In some very trivial particu- lars , and those merely local , there might be grounds . for such a notion ; but in the main points ...
Side xi
... leave " Childe Harold " to live his day , such as he is ; it had been more agreeable , and certainly more easy , to have drawn an amiable character . It had been easy to varnish over his faults , to make him do more and express less ...
... leave " Childe Harold " to live his day , such as he is ; it had been more agreeable , and certainly more easy , to have drawn an amiable character . It had been easy to varnish over his faults , to make him do more and express less ...
Side 10
... leave No thing that claims a tear.15 9 . And now I'm in the world alone , Upon the wide , wide sea : But why should I for others groan , When none will sigh for me ? Perchance my dog will whine in vain , 16 Till fed by stranger hands ...
... leave No thing that claims a tear.15 9 . And now I'm in the world alone , Upon the wide , wide sea : But why should I for others groan , When none will sigh for me ? Perchance my dog will whine in vain , 16 Till fed by stranger hands ...
Side 25
... leave their nest , Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek , Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch ! Who round the North for paler dames ...
... leave their nest , Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek , Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch ! Who round the North for paler dames ...
Andre utgaver - Vis alle
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt : and Other Poems George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1812 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Albanians Ali Pacha amidst amongst ancient Ariosto Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cadiz Cæsar called CANTO charms Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero Classical Tour dark death deem'd deep doth dust earth Egeria fair fall fame feel Florence foes French gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope hour immortal Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake land line 9 live Lord Byron maid mind mortal mountains ne'er never o'er once palace pass passion Petrarch plain poem poet Pouqueville rock Roman Rome round ruins Sanguinetto says scene seems seen shine shore sigh slave smile song soul Spain spirit spot Stanza Storia Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb traveller triumph Venetians Venice walls waves wild woes words youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 224 - 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 143 - 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 166 - 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 110 - 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 136 - 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 194 - 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 223 - 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 125 - 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 192 - 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 137 - 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?