Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntG.S. Appleton, 1851 - Всего страниц: 287 |
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Стр. 135
... VENICE , January 2 , 1818 . AFTER an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold , the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the public . In parting with so old a friend ...
... VENICE , January 2 , 1818 . AFTER an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold , the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the public . In parting with so old a friend ...
Стр. 136
... Venice and Rome have been more recently . The poem also , or the pilgrim , or both , have accompanied me from first to last ; and per- haps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect with complacency on a composition ...
... Venice and Rome have been more recently . The poem also , or the pilgrim , or both , have accompanied me from first to last ; and per- haps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect with complacency on a composition ...
Стр. 141
... 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 ...
... 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 ...
Стр. 142
... Venice once was dear , The pleasant place of all festivity , The revel of the earth , the masque of Italy ! IV . But unto us she hath a spell beyond Her name in story , and her long array Of mighty shadows , whose dim forms despond ...
... Venice once was dear , The pleasant place of all festivity , The revel of the earth , the masque of Italy ! IV . But unto us she hath a spell beyond Her name in story , and her long array Of mighty shadows , whose dim forms despond ...
Стр. 144
... power , Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued , And 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 144 CANTO IV . CHILDE HAROLD'S.
... power , Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued , And 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 144 CANTO IV . CHILDE HAROLD'S.
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt : and Other Poems George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Полный просмотр - 1812 |
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Albania Ali Pacha amidst amongst ancient Ariosto Arqua Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cæsar CANTO Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Chioza church Cicero Comitium dark death deem'd deep doth dust dwell earth edit Egeria fair fall fame fate feel Ficus Ruminalis gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope hour immortal Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake land less light live Lord mind mortal mountains Nardini ne'er never o'er once pass pass'd passion Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Roman Rome ruin scatter'd scene seems seen shore sigh smile song soul spirit spot STANZA Storia stream Suetonius Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought throne tomb triumph Turks tyrants valley Venetians Venice walls waves winds woes wolf words youth καὶ
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Стр. 121 - And this is in the night. — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — A portion of the tempest and of thee ! How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Стр. 120 - All heaven and earth are still— though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep...
Стр. 119 - Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
Стр. 198 - Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted — Can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.
Стр. 122 - Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me, — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe— into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
Стр. 91 - Welcome to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead !' Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on : for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Стр. 100 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent!
Стр. 179 - Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, And fevers into false creation : — where, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? In him alone. Can Nature show so fair...
Стр. 162 - 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, LXX.
Стр. 184 - But I have lived, and have not lived in vain ; My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire; And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire...