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adapted admiration affection already appears beautiful become called cantos of Childe character Childe Harold circumstance conception connected Dallas dark dead death display doubt early earth evil existence expression extract fact favour feelings felt force former friends give given hand heart hope hour human imagination interest Italy kind language latter less light likewise lines living look Lord Byron meaning Medwin melancholy mind moral mother mountains nature never o'er object once passage passions poem poet poetical poetry Pope possessed powers present productions publication qualities quoted regard relation render reported represented Review scene seems seen sentiment sometimes spirit striking strong strongly sufferings sympathy taste thee things thou thought tion true truth verses vices virtues waves whole wish writings written youth
Стр. 104 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Стр. 94 - Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse : And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray.
Стр. 91 - I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture...
Стр. 93 - The moon is up, and yet it is not night — Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains : Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be — Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity ; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Tloats through the azure air — an island of the blest ! XXVIII.
Стр. 113 - The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap: 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. 93 - The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb, — And glowing into day ; we may resume The march of our existence : and thus I, Still on thy shores, fair Leman ! may find room And food for meditation, nor pass by Much, that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly.
Стр. 99 - It is not noon— the Sunbow's rays still arch The torrent with the many hues of heaven, And roll the sheeted silver's waving column O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular, And fling its lines of foaming light along, And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death, As told in the Apocalypse.
Стр. 117 - Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
Стр. 116 - But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.
Стр. 55 - Athens' children are with hearts endued, When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, Then may'st thou be restored ; but not till then. A thousand years scarce serve to form a state ; An hour may lay it in the dust : and when Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate?