Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Volum 1Joseph Knight Company, 1885 - 236 sider |
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Side 17
... Hope's imagining ! And surely she who now so fondly rears Thy youth , in thee , thus hourly brightening , Beholds the rainbow of her future years , Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears . Young Peri of the West ! - ' t is. 2 ...
... Hope's imagining ! And surely she who now so fondly rears Thy youth , in thee , thus hourly brightening , Beholds the rainbow of her future years , Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears . Young Peri of the West ! - ' t is. 2 ...
Side 18
... fingers near the lyre Of him who hailed thee , loveliest as thou wast , Such is the most my memory may desire ; Though more than Hope can claim , could Friendship less require ? CANTO THE FIRST . I. OH , thou ! in 18 TO IANTHE .
... fingers near the lyre Of him who hailed thee , loveliest as thou wast , Such is the most my memory may desire ; Though more than Hope can claim , could Friendship less require ? CANTO THE FIRST . I. OH , thou ! in 18 TO IANTHE .
Side 25
... hope to heal . XI . His house , his home , his heritage , his lands , The laughing dames in whom he did delight , Whose large blue eyes , fair locks , and snowy hands . Might shake the saintship of an anchorite , And long had fed his ...
... hope to heal . XI . His house , his home , his heritage , his lands , The laughing dames in whom he did delight , Whose large blue eyes , fair locks , and snowy hands . Might shake the saintship of an anchorite , And long had fed his ...
Side 32
... hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell . XXI . And here and there , as up the crags you spring , Mark many rude - carved crosses near the path : Yet deem not these devotion's offering- These are memorials frail of murderous wrath ...
... hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell . XXI . And here and there , as up the crags you spring , Mark many rude - carved crosses near the path : Yet deem not these devotion's offering- These are memorials frail of murderous wrath ...
Side 35
... , The toilsome way , and long , long league to trace , Oh there is sweetness in the mountain air , And life , that bloated Ease can never hope to share . XXXI . More bleak to view the hills at length CANTO I. 35 PILGRIMAGE .
... , The toilsome way , and long , long league to trace , Oh there is sweetness in the mountain air , And life , that bloated Ease can never hope to share . XXXI . More bleak to view the hills at length CANTO I. 35 PILGRIMAGE .
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Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Acheron adieu art thou Athens aught beauties behold beneath blazon bleed blood blue blush boast bosom breast brow BULL FIGHT castled crag cheer Childe Harold clime crags dare dark dear deeds deemed didst dome doom doth Drachenfels dread dream dwell e'er earth earth art fair Cadiz fame fate foam gainst gale Gaul gaze Giaour glaive glorious glow Greece hand hath heart heaven hope hour land lone Look lurk lyre maid minarets mingling mortal mountain mourn native ne'er NEWSTEAD ABBEY o'er thy once passed perchance Pindus place of skulls plain pride proud Rhine rock scarce scene Seville shore shrine sigh sink skies slave smile song sooth sorrow soul Spain Stamboul steed stern stream sweet tear thee thine eye thought throng tower unmoved vainly walls wanderer waves weary ween Whate'er wild wind young youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 121 - Cameron's gathering' rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!
Side 122 - 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 Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
Side 120 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Side 29 - Lo ! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes In variegated maze of mount and glen. Ah, me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, To follow half on which the eye dilates...
Side 66 - Look on this spot — a nation's sepulchre ! Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. Even gods must yield — religions take their turn : 'Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — and other creeds Will rise with other years, till man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds.
Side 130 - There Harold gazes on a work divine, A blending of all beauties; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.
Side 110 - Again I seize the theme then but begun, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind Bears the cloud onwards : in that Tale I find The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life, — where not a flower appears.
Side 119 - But hark! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar! Within a window'd niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain...
Side 129 - He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below.
Side 24 - A few short hours, and he will rise To give the morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, My dog howls at the gate. »Come hither, hither, my little page: Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale?