Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt |
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Side 69
L. Here in the sultriest season let him rest , Fresh is the green beneath those
aged trees ; Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast , From heaven itself he
may inhale the breeze : The plain is far beneath - oh ! let him seize Pure pleasure
...
L. Here in the sultriest season let him rest , Fresh is the green beneath those
aged trees ; Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast , From heaven itself he
may inhale the breeze : The plain is far beneath - oh ! let him seize Pure pleasure
...
Side 71
Epirus ' bounds recede , and mountains fail ; Tired of up - gazing still , the
wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale As ever Spring yclad in grassy
dye : Even on a plain no humble beauties lie , Where some bold river breaks the
long ...
Epirus ' bounds recede , and mountains fail ; Tired of up - gazing still , the
wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale As ever Spring yclad in grassy
dye : Even on a plain no humble beauties lie , Where some bold river breaks the
long ...
Side 77
To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock , And descends to the plain
like the stream from the rock , 3 Shall the sons of Chimari , who never forgive The
fault of a friend , bid an enemy live ? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance
...
To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock , And descends to the plain
like the stream from the rock , 3 Shall the sons of Chimari , who never forgive The
fault of a friend , bid an enemy live ? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance
...
Side 80
Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his
train , Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties
of thine Attic plain ? No thirty tyrants now enforce the chain , But every carle can
lord ...
Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his
train , Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties
of thine Attic plain ? No thirty tyrants now enforce the chain , But every carle can
lord ...
Side 85
The flying Mede , his shaftless broken bow ; The fiery Greek , his red pursuing
spear ; Mountains above , Earth's , Ocean's plain below ; Death in the front ,
Destruction in the rear ! Such was the scene — what now remaineth here ? What
sacred ...
The flying Mede , his shaftless broken bow ; The fiery Greek , his red pursuing
spear ; Mountains above , Earth's , Ocean's plain below ; Death in the front ,
Destruction in the rear ! Such was the scene — what now remaineth here ? What
sacred ...
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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
amongst ancient appear arms Athens bear beauty behold beneath blood breast breath called CANTO changed Childe church dark death deep dust earth edit fair fall fame feel foes gaze give Greek hand Harold hath heard heart Heaven hills honour hope hour Italy known lake land late least leave less light live look Lord memory mind mortal mountains Nature never night o'er observed once pass perhaps plain poet 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 vain Venice voice walls waters waves whole winds wolf young
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...
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 |