Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt |
Inni boken
Resultat 1-5 av 22
Side 11
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as
they beam'd— To such as see thee not my words were weak; To those who gaze
on thee what language could they speak? Ah! may'st thou ever be what now ...
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as
they beam'd— To such as see thee not my words were weak; To those who gaze
on thee what language could they speak? Ah! may'st thou ever be what now ...
Side 12
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, Mine
...
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, Mine
...
Side 26
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Childe Harold wends through many
a pleasant place. Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, And marvel men
should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, ...
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Childe Harold wends through many
a pleasant place. Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, And marvel men
should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, ...
Side 36
... only bend the knee; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze
beneath thy cloudy canopy In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee! LXII.
Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, Whose 36 CHILDE HAR OLD's
caxto i.
... only bend the knee; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze
beneath thy cloudy canopy In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee! LXII.
Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, Whose 36 CHILDE HAR OLD's
caxto i.
Side 38
While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape The fascination of thy magic gaze
? A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear
delusive shape. Lxvi. When Paphos sell by time—accursed Time! The queen
who ...
While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape The fascination of thy magic gaze
? A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear
delusive shape. Lxvi. When Paphos sell by time—accursed Time! The queen
who ...
Hva folk mener - Skriv en omtale
Vi har ikke funnet noen omtaler på noen av de vanlige stedene.
Andre utgaver - Vis alle
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Volum 1 George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1885 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
amongst ancient appear arms Athens bear beauty beneath better blood breast breath called Childe church dark dead death deep dust earth edit fair fall fame feel foes gaze glory Greek hand Harold hath heard heart Heaven hills honour hope hour Italian Italy lake land late least leave less light live look Lord memory mind mortal mountains Nature never o'er observed once pass perhaps plain present rise rock Roman Rome round scene seems seen shore song soul spirit stands STANZA statue stream tears temple thee thine things thou thought thousand tomb traveller tree true turn Venice walls waters waves whole winds wolf young youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 119 - 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 118 - All heaven and earth are still— though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep...
Side 118 - Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
Side 196 - Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted — Can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.
Side 120 - Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me, — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe— into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
Side 89 - Welcome to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead !' Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on : for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Side 98 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent!
Side 178 - Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, And fevers into false creation : — where, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? In him alone. Can Nature show so fair...
Side 162 - 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, LXX.
Side 182 - But I have lived, and have not lived in vain ; My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire; And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire...
Bibliografisk informasjon
| Tittel | Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt |
| Forfatter | George Gordon Byron Baron Byron |
| Utgiver | G.S. Appleton, 1851 |
| Original fra | New York Public Library |
| Digitalisert | 22. nov 2006 |
| Lengde | 287 sider |
| Eksporter sitat | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |