Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Volum 1Joseph Knight Company, 1885 - 236 sider |
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Side 40
... of Battle's minions ! let them play Their game of lives , and barter breath for fame : Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay , 40 Seville . 66 Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued . 40 CANTO I. CHILDE HAROLD'S.
... of Battle's minions ! let them play Their game of lives , and barter breath for fame : Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay , 40 Seville . 66 Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued . 40 CANTO I. CHILDE HAROLD'S.
Side 70
... live in vain - Twined with my heart , and can I deem thee dead , When busy Memory flashes on my brain ? Well I will dream that we may meet again , ― And woo the vision to my vacant breast : If aught of young Remembrance then remain , Be ...
... live in vain - Twined with my heart , and can I deem thee dead , When busy Memory flashes on my brain ? Well I will dream that we may meet again , ― And woo the vision to my vacant breast : If aught of young Remembrance then remain , Be ...
Side 82
... live who life eternal gave ? If life eternal may await the lyre , That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire . XL . ' Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve Childe Harold hailed Leucadia's cape afar ; A spot he longed to see ...
... live who life eternal gave ? If life eternal may await the lyre , That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire . XL . ' Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve Childe Harold hailed Leucadia's cape afar ; A spot he longed to see ...
Side 95
... live ? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego ? What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe ? IV . Macedonia sends forth her invincible race ; For a time they abandon the cave and the chase : But those scarfs of blood - red ...
... live ? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego ? What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe ? IV . Macedonia sends forth her invincible race ; For a time they abandon the cave and the chase : But those scarfs of blood - red ...
Side 115
... live A being more intense , that we endow With form our fancy , gaining as we give The life we image , even as I do now . What am I ? Nothing ; but not so art thou , Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth , Invisible but gazing ...
... live A being more intense , that we endow With form our fancy , gaining as we give The life we image , even as I do now . What am I ? Nothing ; but not so art thou , Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth , Invisible but gazing ...
Andre utgaver - Vis alle
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?