The Works of Lord Byron: Childe Harold's pilgrimageJohn Murray, 1821 |
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Side 5
... seem To me , though to none else , a not ungrateful theme . V. He , who grown aged in this world of woe , In deeds , not years , piercing the depths of life , So that no wonder waits him ; nor below Can love , or sorrow , fame ...
... seem To me , though to none else , a not ungrateful theme . V. He , who grown aged in this world of woe , In deeds , not years , piercing the depths of life , So that no wonder waits him ; nor below Can love , or sorrow , fame ...
Side 28
... seem such to me Even now what wants thy stream ? —that it should Lethe be . LI . A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks , But these and half their fame have pass'd away , And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks ; Their very ...
... seem such to me Even now what wants thy stream ? —that it should Lethe be . LI . A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks , But these and half their fame have pass'd away , And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks ; Their very ...
Side 30
... seems strange of mood , - The helpless looks of blooming infancy , Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued , To change like this , a mind so far imbued With scorn of man , it little boots to know ; But thus it was ; and though in ...
... seems strange of mood , - The helpless looks of blooming infancy , Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued , To change like this , a mind so far imbued With scorn of man , it little boots to know ; But thus it was ; and though in ...
Side 44
... seems . LXXIX . This breathed itself to life in Júlie , this Invested her with all that's wild and sweet ; This hallow'd , too , the memorable kiss Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet , From hers , who but with friendship his ...
... seems . LXXIX . This breathed itself to life in Júlie , this Invested her with all that's wild and sweet ; This hallow'd , too , the memorable kiss Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet , From hers , who but with friendship his ...
Side 48
... 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 . LXXXVIII . Ye ...
... 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 . LXXXVIII . Ye ...
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The Works of Lord Byron: Childe Harold's pilgrimage George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1821 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
amidst amongst ancient Ariosto beauty beneath blood Boccaccio breast breath brow Cæsar called Canto Certaldo Childe Harold Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Chioza church Cicero Classical Tour clouds Comitium dead death Decameron deep divine Doge dust earth edit Egeria Emperor empire eyes fall fame feeling Ficus Ruminalis Flaminius Florence Florentine foes gaze Genoese glory gondoliers hath heart heaven hills Hist honour hyæna immortal inscription Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake light live Livy memory mind mortal mountains Muses Nardini nymph o'er Padua pass passion Petrarch poet quæ Roman Rome round ruin scene seems seen shore soul spirit spot stand Stanza star statue Storia delle arti Suetonius Tasso tears temple temple of Romulus thee thine things thou thought throne tomb tree triumphs valley Venetians Venice voice walls waves wind Winkelmann woes wolf words writer καὶ
Populære avsnitt
Side 91 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Side 20 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...
Side 92 - She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers : And such she was ; — her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. In purple was she robed, and of her feast Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased.
Side 132 - Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be Her resurrection; all beside — decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free!
Side 127 - Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn Its steady dyes, while all around is torn By the distracted waters, bears serene Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn : Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.
Side 104 - The moon is up, and yet it is not night — Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains ; heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the day joins the past Eternity; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest...
Side 96 - Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted, — they have torn me — and I bleed : I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Side 56 - Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : For here, not one, but many make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around : of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd His lightnings, — as if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation work'd, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd.
Side 112 - God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress...
Side 44 - Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake, Which feeds it as a mother who doth make A fair but froward infant her own care, Kissing its cries away as these awake; — Is it not better thus our lives to wear, Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or bear?