Byron's Childe Harold (canto IV): Prisoner of Chillon and Other SelectionsAmerican Book Company, 1911 - Всего страниц: 170 |
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Стр. 7
... mother was vain , violent , passionate , yet fond , —an hysterical woman whose char- acter was a mixture of strength and weakness . She was of Scotch birth , with some blood royal of the Stuart family in her proud veins . Her maiden ...
... mother was vain , violent , passionate , yet fond , —an hysterical woman whose char- acter was a mixture of strength and weakness . She was of Scotch birth , with some blood royal of the Stuart family in her proud veins . Her maiden ...
Стр. 21
... mother's brow was given To him , with eyes as blue as heaven- For him my soul was sorely moved ; And truly might it be distressed To see such bird in such a nest ; For he was beautiful as day- ( When day was beautiful to me As to young ...
... mother's brow was given To him , with eyes as blue as heaven- For him my soul was sorely moved ; And truly might it be distressed To see such bird in such a nest ; For he was beautiful as day- ( When day was beautiful to me As to young ...
Стр. 24
... mother's image in fair face , The infant love of all his race , 165 His martyred father's dearest thought , My latest care , for whom I sought To hoard my life , that his might be 170 Less wretched now , and one day free ; He , too ...
... mother's image in fair face , The infant love of all his race , 165 His martyred father's dearest thought , My latest care , for whom I sought To hoard my life , that his might be 170 Less wretched now , and one day free ; He , too ...
Стр. 45
... Mother , 320 And , it may be , a saint or two , As I resign'd me to my fate , They led me to the castle gate : Theresa's doom I never knew , Our lot was henceforth separate . 666 IX . ' Bring forth the horse ! ' - the horse was brought ...
... Mother , 320 And , it may be , a saint or two , As I resign'd me to my fate , They led me to the castle gate : Theresa's doom I never knew , Our lot was henceforth separate . 666 IX . ' Bring forth the horse ! ' - the horse was brought ...
Стр. 60
... mother and with sire- What need of more ? —I will not tire With long recital of the rest , Since I became the Cossack's guest . They found me senseless on the plain , They bore me to the nearest hut , They brought me into life again— Me ...
... mother and with sire- What need of more ? —I will not tire With long recital of the rest , Since I became the Cossack's guest . They found me senseless on the plain , They bore me to the nearest hut , They brought me into life again— Me ...
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Bards battle of Pultowa beauty beheld beneath blood Boccaccio born breast breath bright brow Byron Cæsar Canto chain Childe Harold Childe Harold's Pilgrimage clay cloud cold Cossack courser dark dead death deemed deep died divine dost doth dread dungeon dust dwell earth Egeria eternal eyes fame feel fettered foam gaze glory grave Greece Greek hath heart heaven Hetman hope horse hour immortal Italy king lake limbs literary Lord Mazeppa mighty mind monarch mother mountain Nature's Newstead Abbey night o'er ocean once pain Perchance Petrarch poem poet poetry Prisoner of Chillon proud Roman Rome round ruin Samian wine shore sigh sire skies smile song soul spirit stanzas star steed sword tears thee thine things thou thought thousand throne tomb TOZER tree twas tyrant Ukraine Venice walls waters waves wild wind woes youth ΙΟ
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Стр. 155 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships by thousands lay below, And men in nations; — all were his! He counted them at break of day, And when the sun set, where were they?
Стр. 74 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.— But hark!
Стр. 151 - Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, the throne Of the invisible,— even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Стр. 151 - 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. 75 - 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!
Стр. 84 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Стр. 150 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed...
Стр. 137 - Were with his heart, and that was far away. He recked 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, Butchered to make a Roman holiday!
Стр. 17 - Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar; for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! — May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
Стр. 152 - 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 wantoned 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.