Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt |
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Side 5
... (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a
fictitious personage), it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very
unknightly, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, and so forth.
Now ...
... (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a
fictitious personage), it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very
unknightly, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, and so forth.
Now ...
Side 30
There shall they rot—Ambition's honour'd fools! Yes, Honour decks the turf that
wraps their clay ! 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 ...
There shall they rot—Ambition's honour'd fools! Yes, Honour decks the turf that
wraps their clay ! 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 ...
Side 64
... crowns thy hopes. xxxv. 'Tis an old lesson; Time approves it true, And those
who know it best, deplore it most; When all is won that all desire to woo, The
paltry prize is hardly worth the cost: Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour lost,
These ...
... crowns thy hopes. xxxv. 'Tis an old lesson; Time approves it true, And those
who know it best, deplore it most; When all is won that all desire to woo, The
paltry prize is hardly worth the cost: Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour lost,
These ...
Side 101
... Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for; though
the sound of Fame May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake The sever of vain
longing, and the name So honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. xxxii.
... Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for; though
the sound of Fame May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake The sever of vain
longing, and the name So honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. xxxii.
Side 111
By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid,
Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; Beneath its base are heroes' ashes
hid, Our enemy's—but let not that forbid Honour to Marceau! o'er whose early
tomb ...
By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid,
Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; Beneath its base are heroes' ashes
hid, Our enemy's—but let not that forbid Honour to Marceau! o'er whose early
tomb ...
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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 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 |