Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Lord ByronJ. Robins, 1828 - 756 sider |
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Side 4
... least as ho- norable as it is ancient ; and that in England its history commences with the period of the Conquest , when we find that there were two nobles bearing the name of Buron , or Byron , in both of which ways it seems to have ...
... least as ho- norable as it is ancient ; and that in England its history commences with the period of the Conquest , when we find that there were two nobles bearing the name of Buron , or Byron , in both of which ways it seems to have ...
Side 24
... least effort a striking picture of that appaining event : — • In this dreadful situation she ( the ship ) lay for some little time , every soul on board looking upon the present minute as his last ; for there was nothing to be seen but ...
... least effort a striking picture of that appaining event : — • In this dreadful situation she ( the ship ) lay for some little time , every soul on board looking upon the present minute as his last ; for there was nothing to be seen but ...
Side 27
... least relaxed , that many at this time perished with hunger . A boy , when no other eat- ables could be found , having picked up the liver of one of the drowned men ( whose carcass had been torn to pieces by the force with which the sea ...
... least relaxed , that many at this time perished with hunger . A boy , when no other eat- ables could be found , having picked up the liver of one of the drowned men ( whose carcass had been torn to pieces by the force with which the sea ...
Side 28
... least as good a right to a share as the rest , I sat down with them , and partook of their repast . Three weeks after that I was glad to make a meal of his paws and skin , which , upon recollecting the spot where they had killed him , I ...
... least as good a right to a share as the rest , I sat down with them , and partook of their repast . Three weeks after that I was glad to make a meal of his paws and skin , which , upon recollecting the spot where they had killed him , I ...
Side 30
... least regard to the men , who called out to stop me . The want of refreshment I bore as well as I could . When I got to the Borough I took a coach and drove to Marlborough Street , where my friends had lived when I left England ; but ...
... least regard to the men , who called out to stop me . The want of refreshment I bore as well as I could . When I got to the Borough I took a coach and drove to Marlborough Street , where my friends had lived when I left England ; but ...
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Memoirs of the life and writings of lord Byron George Clinton (biographer of Byron.) Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1825 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Ali Pacha appeared arms bard beauty behold beneath blood bosom breast breath brow Cain called Calmar canto Cephalonia character Childe Harold Countess Guiccioli dark dead death Doge dread dream earth Edinburgh Review English eyes fair fame fate father fear feel gaze genius Giaour grave Greece Greek hand hath heart heaven hero honour hope hour knew lady Lara less letter live look Lord Byron lordship Mavrocordatos Mazeppa mind Missolonghi Morea mortal Muse ne'er never Newstead Abbey night noble o'er once Parisina passed passion Patras perhaps person poem poet poetry replied Samian wine Sardanapalus scarce scene seemed shore Siegendorf sigh sleep smile song soul Southey speak spirit stanzas Suliotes tears thee thine things thou thought turned twas Venice verse voice wave wild wish words young youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 333 - 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.
Side 315 - 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...
Side 328 - 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 ! How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Side 732 - Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep ! He hath awakened from the dream of life. 'Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings.
Side 545 - Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three To make a new Thermopylae! What, silent still ? and silent all ? Ah, no; — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head. But one, arise — we come, we come!
Side 385 - Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse : And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray.
Side 673 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze A funeral pile.
Side 183 - And marked the mild, angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there, The fixed yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye...
Side 388 - Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery.
Side 545 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? 'Tis something in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here ? For Greeks a blush, for Greece a tear ! Must we but weep o'er days more blest?