Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntG.S. Appleton, 1851 - 287 sider |
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Side 5
... perhaps , if they had been less kind they had been more candid . Returning , therefore , to all and each my best thanks for their liberality , on one point alone shall I venture an observation . Amongst the many objections justly urged ...
... perhaps , if they had been less kind they had been more candid . Returning , therefore , to all and each my best thanks for their liberality , on one point alone shall I venture an observation . Amongst the many objections justly urged ...
Side 6
... once meant to fill up for him was , with some exceptions , the sketch of a modern Timon , perhaps a poet- ical Zeluco . London , 1813 . The Rovers . - Anti - jacobin . LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS . NEWSTEAD ABBEY . CADIZ . COLONNA vi PREFACE .
... once meant to fill up for him was , with some exceptions , the sketch of a modern Timon , perhaps a poet- ical Zeluco . London , 1813 . The Rovers . - Anti - jacobin . LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS . NEWSTEAD ABBEY . CADIZ . COLONNA vi PREFACE .
Side 137
... perhaps of manners . But the text , within the limits I proposed , I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of external objects , and the consequent reflections ; and for the whole of the notes , excepting a few of the shortest ...
... perhaps of manners . But the text , within the limits I proposed , I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of external objects , and the consequent reflections ; and for the whole of the notes , excepting a few of the shortest ...
Side 143
... born where men are proud to be , Not without cause ; and should I leave behind The inviolate island of the sage and free , And seek me out a home by a remoter sea , IX . Perhaps I loved it well : and should CANTO IV . 143 PILGRIMAGE .
... born where men are proud to be , Not without cause ; and should I leave behind The inviolate island of the sage and free , And seek me out a home by a remoter sea , IX . Perhaps I loved it well : and should CANTO IV . 143 PILGRIMAGE .
Side 144
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. IX . Perhaps I loved it well : and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine , My spirit shall resume it — if we may Unbodied choose a sanctuary . I twine My hopes of being remember'd in ...
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. IX . Perhaps I loved it well : and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine , My spirit shall resume it — if we may Unbodied choose a sanctuary . I twine My hopes of being remember'd in ...
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt : and Other Poems George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1812 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Albania Ali Pacha amidst amongst ancient Ariosto Arqua Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cæsar CANTO Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Chioza church Cicero Comitium dark death deem'd deep doth dust dwell earth edit Egeria fair fall fame fate feel Ficus Ruminalis gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope hour immortal Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake land less light live Lord mind mortal mountains Nardini ne'er never o'er once pass pass'd passion Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Roman Rome ruin scatter'd scene seems seen shore sigh smile song soul spirit spot STANZA Storia stream Suetonius Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought throne tomb triumph Turks tyrants valley Venetians Venice walls waves winds woes wolf words youth καὶ
Populære avsnitt
Side 121 - 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 120 - 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 119 - 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 198 - 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 122 - 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 91 - 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 100 - 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 179 - 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 184 - 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...