Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt. Campe's ed |
Inni boken
Resultat 1-5 av 45
Side 10
... ancient an modern times ) , few exceptions will be found to this statement , and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages . I now leave Childe Harold to live his day , such ...
... ancient an modern times ) , few exceptions will be found to this statement , and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages . I now leave Childe Harold to live his day , such ...
Side 11
... ancient tales say true , nor wrong these holy men . VIII . Yet oft - times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow , As if the memory of some deadly feud Or dissappointed passion lurk'd below ...
... ancient tales say true , nor wrong these holy men . VIII . Yet oft - times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow , As if the memory of some deadly feud Or dissappointed passion lurk'd below ...
Side 20
... ancient roundelays among . Whilome upon his banks did legions throng Of Moor and knight , in mailed splendour drest : Here ceased the swift their race , here sunk the strong ; The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mix'd on the ...
... ancient roundelays among . Whilome upon his banks did legions throng Of Moor and knight , in mailed splendour drest : Here ceased the swift their race , here sunk the strong ; The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mix'd on the ...
Side 21
... ancient goddess , cries ; But wields not , as of old , her thirsty lance , Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies , And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar : In every peal she ...
... ancient goddess , cries ; But wields not , as of old , her thirsty lance , Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies , And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar : In every peal she ...
Side 29
... ancient days ; 14 ) But Cadiz , rising on the distant coast , Calls forth a sweeter , though ignoble praise . Ah , Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! While boyish blood is mantling who can ' scape The fascination of thy magic ...
... ancient days ; 14 ) But Cadiz , rising on the distant coast , Calls forth a sweeter , though ignoble praise . Ah , Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! While boyish blood is mantling who can ' scape The fascination of thy magic ...
Andre utgaver - Vis alle
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, a Romaunt. Campe's Ed George Gordon N Byron (6th Baron ) Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2015 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Albania Ali Pacha amongst ancient Arqua Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Canto Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero Constantinople dark death deem'd doth dust earth Egeria fair fame feel foes gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope immortal Italian Italy lake land line last live Lord mind mortal mountains ne'er never o'er once pass Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Romaic Roman Rome scene seen shore sigh smile song soul spot Stanza Storia Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb triumph tyrants Venetian Venice walls waves wild woes wolf ἂν ἀπὸ δὲ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς εἰς τὴν ἐν ἡμεῖς καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ οἱ σᾶς τὰ τὰς τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν ὡς
Populære avsnitt
Side 165 - 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...
Side 224 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low : And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Side 160 - Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Is not the love of these deep in my heart With a pure passion?
Side 163 - Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction : once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have...
Side 225 - Were with his heart, and that was far away; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother— he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday— All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Side 151 - Away with these ! true Wisdom's world will be Within its own creation, or in thine, Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee, Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine ? There Harold gazes on a work divine, A blending of all beauties ; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.
Side 47 - But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude.
Side 145 - And human frailties, were forgotten quite : Could he have kept his spirit to that flight He had been happy ; but this clay will sink Its spark immortal, envying it the light To which it mounts, as if to break the link That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.
Side 194 - gainst the Alpine shocks Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks The howling tempest, till its height and frame Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same.
Side 151 - Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.