The works, of ... lord Byron, Том 7 |
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Стр. 36
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee ' , Lone mother of dead empires ! and
controul . In their shut breasts their petiy misery . What are our woes and
sufferance ? Come and see The cypress , hear the owl , and pled your way O ' er
steps of ...
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee ' , Lone mother of dead empires ! and
controul . In their shut breasts their petiy misery . What are our woes and
sufferance ? Come and see The cypress , hear the owl , and pled your way O ' er
steps of ...
Стр. 41
... mould , 44 With passions fiercer , yet a judgment cold , And an immortal instinct
which redeem ' d The frailties of a heart so soft , yet bold , Alcides with the distaff
now he seem ' d At Cleopatra ' s feet , - and now himself he beam ' d , XCI .
... mould , 44 With passions fiercer , yet a judgment cold , And an immortal instinct
which redeem ' d The frailties of a heart so soft , yet bold , Alcides with the distaff
now he seem ' d At Cleopatra ' s feet , - and now himself he beam ' d , XCI .
Стр. 52
And didst thou not , thy breast to his replying , Blend a celestial with a human
heart ; And Love , which dies as it was born , in sighing , Share with immortal
transports ? could thine art Make them indeed immortal , and impart The purity of
...
And didst thou not , thy breast to his replying , Blend a celestial with a human
heart ; And Love , which dies as it was born , in sighing , Share with immortal
transports ? could thine art Make them indeed immortal , and impart The purity of
...
Стр. 63
Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life , Where on the heart and from the
heart we took Our first and sweetest nurture , when the wife , Blest into mother , in
the innocent look , Or even the piping cry of lips that brook No pain and small ...
Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life , Where on the heart and from the
heart we took Our first and sweetest nurture , when the wife , Blest into mother , in
the innocent look , Or even the piping cry of lips that brook No pain and small ...
Стр. 70
_ _ Oh , happier thought ! can we be made the same : It is enough in sooth that
once we bore These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore . .
CLXVII . Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds , A long low distant murmur
of ...
_ _ Oh , happier thought ! can we be made the same : It is enough in sooth that
once we bore These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore . .
CLXVII . Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds , A long low distant murmur
of ...
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The Works of Lord Byron: With an Introduction and Bibliography George Gordon Byron Ограниченный просмотр - 1994 |
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amongst ancient appeared beauty believe blood Boccaccio born called Canto changed Childe church Cicero criticism crown dead death deep dust earth edit Emperor empire eyes fact fall feel Florence former glory hand hath heart hills honour hope horses human hundred immortal inscription Italian Italy lake least leaves less letter light live look Mark memory mind mortal mountains Nature never o'er object once pass perhaps person Petrarch plain poet present raised record rise Roman Rome round ruin says seems seen shore side soul stand Stanza statue Storia stream Tasso temple thee thine things thou thought tomb traveller tree turn valley Venetians Venice voice walls waters whole wolf writer
Популярные отрывки
Стр. 76 - 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.
Стр. 75 - 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' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Стр. 7 - 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. 60 - He heard it, but he heeded not— his eyes 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. 7 - She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers...
Стр. 33 - 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...
Стр. 8 - 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...
Стр. 75 - The armaments which thunder-strike 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. 36 - Lone mother of dead empires! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye!
Стр. 60 - 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 ! CXLII.
Библиографические данные
| Название | The works, of ... lord Byron, Том 7 The works, of ... lord Byron, George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) |
| Автор | George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) |
| Опубликована: | 1819 |
| Владелец оригинала: | Оксфордский университет |
| Оцифровано | 20 июн 2007 |
| Экспорт цитаты | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |