The Works of George Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Том 7 |
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Стр. 40
... throng , Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ; Or if , amidst the comrades of thy youth , None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth , Ask thine own heart ; ' twill bid thee , boy , forbear ; For well I know that virtue ...
... throng , Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ; Or if , amidst the comrades of thy youth , None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth , Ask thine own heart ; ' twill bid thee , boy , forbear ; For well I know that virtue ...
Стр. 41
... throng , The pride of princes , and the boast of song . ( 2 ) Such were thy fathers ; thus preserve their name ; Not heir to titles only , but to fame . The hour draws nigh , a few brief days will close , To me , this little scene of ...
... throng , The pride of princes , and the boast of song . ( 2 ) Such were thy fathers ; thus preserve their name ; Not heir to titles only , but to fame . The hour draws nigh , a few brief days will close , To me , this little scene of ...
Стр. 57
... throng to sigh like me , love ! More constant they may prove , indeed ; Fonder , alas ! they ne'er can be , love ! LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY . [ As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden , two ladies passing near the ...
... throng to sigh like me , love ! More constant they may prove , indeed ; Fonder , alas ! they ne'er can be , love ! LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY . [ As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden , two ladies passing near the ...
Стр. 69
... throng the bands , Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease . But where is Oscar ? sure ' tis late : Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame ? While thronging guests and ladies wait , Nor Oscar nor F 3 HOURS OF IDLENESS . 69.
... throng the bands , Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease . But where is Oscar ? sure ' tis late : Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame ? While thronging guests and ladies wait , Nor Oscar nor F 3 HOURS OF IDLENESS . 69.
Стр. 72
... ! The year Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note ! Hark to the swelling nuptial song ! In joyous strains the voices float , And still the choral peal prolong . Again the clan , in festive crowd , Throng through 72 HOURS OF IDLENESS .
... ! The year Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note ! Hark to the swelling nuptial song ! In joyous strains the voices float , And still the choral peal prolong . Again the clan , in festive crowd , Throng through 72 HOURS OF IDLENESS .
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The Works of George Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Volume 8 Baron George Gordon Byron Byron Недоступно для просмотра - 2015 |
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
ANACREON bard beauty beneath blast bless blest bliss bosom breast Calmar Capel Lofft CATULLUS dare dark dead dear death delight dream e'en Edinburgh Review edition expire eyes fair fame fate father fear feel flame foes folly fond forget Friendship genius glory glow grave Harrow heart heaven heroes honour hope hour kiss lady lines live Lochlin Lord Byron Lord Carlisle Lord Henry Petty love's last adieu lyre Mathon mind Moore muse ne'er never Newstead Newstead Abbey night Nisus and Euryalus noble numbers o'er once Orla Oscar passion perchance poem poet praise pride Probus published remembrance rhyme rise roll satire scene shade sigh sire sleep smile song soothe soul stanzas strain sweet tears thee thine thou thought throng tomb translation truth twill verse voice wave weep wings wonted written young youth
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Стр. 176 - And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove ! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.
Стр. 294 - Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust ! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit ! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on — it honours none you wish to mourn : To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, I never knew but one, and...
Стр. 319 - By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; By love's alternate joy and woe, Maid of Athens!
Стр. 239 - Who warns his friend to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books, for fear of growing double; Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose...
Стр. 211 - These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by, The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel : I only know we loved in vain— I only feel — Farewell ! — Farewell ! 1808.
Стр. 229 - twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. And shall we own such judgment ? No : as soon Seek roses in December — ice in June ; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore ; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.
Стр. 240 - Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of an idiot boy; ' A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, And, like his bard, confounded night with day; So close on each pathetic part he dwells, And each adventure so sublimely tells, That all who view the ' idiot in his glory ' Conceive the bard the hero of the story.
Стр. 239 - Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, That mild apostate from poetic rule, The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay As soft as evening in his favourite May, Who warns his friend 'to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books, for fear of growing double...
Стр. 292 - When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below. When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been.
Стр. 318 - Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh, give me back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Zurrí JJLOÜ, aas By those tresses unconfined, Woo'd by each /Egean wind; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; By those wild eyes like the roe, ZlOT) fJLOtl, CTÚC à"yaTTÔ).