Childe Harold: Canto the Fourth, The Prisoner of Chillon and MazepaHoughton Mifflin Company, 1909 - Всего страниц: 136 |
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Стр. 1
... Monarchs partook , and deem'd their dignity in- creased . III . In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more , And silent rows the songless gondolier ; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore , And music meets not always now the ear ; 25 30 35 ...
... Monarchs partook , and deem'd their dignity in- creased . III . In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more , And silent rows the songless gondolier ; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore , And music meets not always now the ear ; 25 30 35 ...
Стр. 4
... monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower . XII . The Suabian sued , and now the Austrian reigns - An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces , and chains ...
... monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower . XII . The Suabian sued , and now the Austrian reigns - An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces , and chains ...
Стр. 28
... monarchs ride . Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide Temple and tower went down , nor left a site : Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void , O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light , 720 And say , ' here was , or is ...
... monarchs ride . Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide Temple and tower went down , nor left a site : Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void , O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light , 720 And say , ' here was , or is ...
Стр. 58
... monarchs , where art thou ? Fond hope of many nations , art thou dead ? Could not the grave forget thee , and lay low Some less majestic , less beloved head ? In the sad midnight , while thy heart still bled , The mother of a moment , o ...
... monarchs , where art thou ? Fond hope of many nations , art thou dead ? Could not the grave forget thee , and lay low Some less majestic , less beloved head ? In the sad midnight , while thy heart still bled , The mother of a moment , o ...
Стр. 62
... armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock - built cities , bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals , The oak leviathans , whose huge ribs make 1625 1630 1635 1640 1645 Their clay creator the vain 62 BYRON.
... armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock - built cities , bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals , The oak leviathans , whose huge ribs make 1625 1630 1635 1640 1645 Their clay creator the vain 62 BYRON.
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
15 cents Apollo Belvedere Arqua ashes Bards Battle of Pultowa beauty beneath Biographical Sketch blood breast breath brow Byron Cæsar cantos castle castle of Chillon chain Childe Harold Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Coliseum Cossacks Crown 8vo Dante dark dead death deep doth dread dungeon dust E. H. Coleridge earth effect English eternal eyes feel Florence foes gaze GEORGE HERBERT PALMER glory gray hath heart heaven Hetman Hobhouse hope hour hyæna immortal Italy Julius Cæsar King lake light limbs linen Literature Lord LORD BYRON Mazeppa mighty mind monarch mother mountains Napoleon night Note o'er ocean Petrarch poem poet Prisoner of Chillon Riverside Shakespeare Roman Rome round ruin seem'd seen shine shore soul spirit Stanza star steed Tasso tears thee thine thou thought tomb tree Ukraine Venice wall waters waves wild wind woes youth
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Стр. 63 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Стр. 63 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since: their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts; — not so thou. Unchangeable save to thy wild waves
Стр. 74 - But knowing well captivity, Sweet bird, I could not wish for thine! Or if it were, in winged guise, A visitant from Paradise; For — Heaven forgive that thought! the while...
Стр. 64 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Стр. 62 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Стр. 49 - 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.
Стр. 49 - 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!
Стр. 28 - But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections: now we clap Our hands, and cry, " Eureka ! it is clear — " When but some false mirage of ruin rises near.
Стр. 74 - Ran over with the glad surprise, And they that moment could not see I was the mate of misery: But then by dull degrees came back My senses to their wonted track, I saw the dungeon walls and floor Close slowly round me as before...
Стр. 2 - In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!