PoemsG. Routledge and Sons, 1866 - Всего страниц: 719 |
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Стр. vi
... true , the common lot " 71 Lines addressed to the Rev. J. T. Becher , on his advising the Author to mix more with Society- " Dear Becher , you tell me 99 The Death of Calmar and Orla- " Dear are the days " To Edward Noel Long , Esq ...
... true , the common lot " 71 Lines addressed to the Rev. J. T. Becher , on his advising the Author to mix more with Society- " Dear Becher , you tell me 99 The Death of Calmar and Orla- " Dear are the days " To Edward Noel Long , Esq ...
Стр. x
... - " Rough Johnson , the great moralist " Human Motives- " I hate a motive " Truth- " Tis strange , but true " " Departed Pleasures-- " The evaporation of a joyous day " 7 LIFE OF LORD BYRON . " He is now at X CONTENTS .
... - " Rough Johnson , the great moralist " Human Motives- " I hate a motive " Truth- " Tis strange , but true " " Departed Pleasures-- " The evaporation of a joyous day " 7 LIFE OF LORD BYRON . " He is now at X CONTENTS .
Стр. xiii
... true , that mothers who are not remarkable for capacities or virtues , have a great influence upon their sons , particularly when circumstances make the son an object of more than common interest . Now , George Byron was an only child ...
... true , that mothers who are not remarkable for capacities or virtues , have a great influence upon their sons , particularly when circumstances make the son an object of more than common interest . Now , George Byron was an only child ...
Стр. xx
... true his brilliant fancy threw those facts out in new and striking lights , or covered them with beautiful ornaments , but all were drawn from himself , his friends , the scenes he had actually beheld , or the books he had read . This ...
... true his brilliant fancy threw those facts out in new and striking lights , or covered them with beautiful ornaments , but all were drawn from himself , his friends , the scenes he had actually beheld , or the books he had read . This ...
Стр. xxii
... true , pure love , or a proper appreciation of the character of woman . He has a poet's eye for beauty , but it is likewise the eye of a sensualist . His few poems addressed to " Thyrza , " seem to be the only ones on which secrecy ...
... true , pure love , or a proper appreciation of the character of woman . He has a poet's eye for beauty , but it is likewise the eye of a sensualist . His few poems addressed to " Thyrza , " seem to be the only ones on which secrecy ...
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Adah adieu arms art thou Athens bard beam beauty behold beneath blest blood bosom breast breath brow Byron Cain Calmar CATULLUS cheek Countess Guiccioli dare dark dead dear death deeds dread dream dwell earth Edinburgh Review fair falchion fame fate fear feel fix'd flame foes forget friendship gaze genius Giaour glance glory glow grave Greece grief hand hate hath heart heaven honour hope hour kiss Lady Lara Lara's lips live Lochlin Lord Lord Byron Lucifer lyre Mathon mind Morven muse ne'er never Newstead Abbey night numbers o'er once Orla pass'd passion perchance poem pride scarce scene seem'd shine shore sigh sire slave sleep smile song soul spirit stamp'd sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought throne truth turn'd twas twill verse voice wave weep wild wing word young youth Zuleika
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Стр. 556 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed. The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. Or whispering with white lips — "The foe! They come! they come ! " And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering
Стр. 534 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Стр. 556 - No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet— 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!
Стр. 302 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
Стр. 674 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gave— Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Стр. 350 - The last, the sole, the dearest link Between me and the eternal brink, Which bound me to my failing race, Was broken in this fatal place.
Стр. 354 - With spiders I had friendship made, And watch'd them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they ? We were all...
Стр. 558 - There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring.
Стр. 350 - Less wretched now, and one day free ; He, too, who yet had held untired A spirit natural or inspired — He, too, was struck, and day by day, Was wither'd on the stalk away.
Стр. 549 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his honied wealth...