Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntG.S. Appleton, 1851 - Всего страниц: 287 |
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Стр. 46
... least like me , awake ! Through many a clime ' t is mine to go , With many a retrospection curst ; And all my solace is to know , Whate'er betides , I've known the worst . 9 What is that worst ? Nay do not ask- In pity from the search ...
... least like me , awake ! Through many a clime ' t is mine to go , With many a retrospection curst ; And all my solace is to know , Whate'er betides , I've known the worst . 9 What is that worst ? Nay do not ask- In pity from the search ...
Стр. 63
... 'd that a youth so raw Nor felt , nor feign'd at least , the oft - told flames , Which , though sometimes they frown , yet rarely anger dames . XXXIII . Little knew she that seeming marble heart , CANTO II . 63 PILGRIMAGE .
... 'd that a youth so raw Nor felt , nor feign'd at least , the oft - told flames , Which , though sometimes they frown , yet rarely anger dames . XXXIII . Little knew she that seeming marble heart , CANTO II . 63 PILGRIMAGE .
Стр. 75
... , all they had : Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp- To rest the weary and to soothe the sad , Doth lesson happier men , and shames at least the bad . LXIX . It came to pass , that when he CANTO II . 75 PILGRIMAGE .
... , all they had : Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp- To rest the weary and to soothe the sad , Doth lesson happier men , and shames at least the bad . LXIX . It came to pass , that when he CANTO II . 75 PILGRIMAGE .
Стр. 83
... least who owe thee most ; Their birth , their blood , and that sublime record Of hero sires , who shame thy now degenerate horde ! LXXXIV . When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood , When Thebes Epaminondas rears again , When Athens ' children ...
... least who owe thee most ; Their birth , their blood , and that sublime record Of hero sires , who shame thy now degenerate horde ! LXXXIV . When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood , When Thebes Epaminondas rears again , When Athens ' children ...
Стр. 122
... least alone ; A truth , which through our being then doth melt , And purifies from self : it is a tone , The soul and source of music , which makes known Eternal harmony , and sheds a charm Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone , Binding ...
... least alone ; A truth , which through our being then doth melt , And purifies from self : it is a tone , The soul and source of music , which makes known Eternal harmony , and sheds a charm Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone , Binding ...
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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...