Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt |
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Стр. 7
... o'er this page , nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh , Could I to thee be ever more than friend : This much , dear maid , accord ; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend , But bid me ...
... o'er this page , nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh , Could I to thee be ever more than friend : This much , dear maid , accord ; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend , But bid me ...
Стр. 9
... o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine , ( ' ) Where , save that feeble fountain , all is still ; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale this lowly lay of mine . II . Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth ...
... o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine , ( ' ) Where , save that feeble fountain , all is still ; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale this lowly lay of mine . II . Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth ...
Стр. 12
... o'er it he did fling , And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight . While flew the vessel on her snowy wing , And fleeting shores receded from his sight , Thus to the elements he pour'd his last " Good Night . " 66 1 . ADIEU , adieu ...
... o'er it he did fling , And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight . While flew the vessel on her snowy wing , And fleeting shores receded from his sight , Thus to the elements he pour'd his last " Good Night . " 66 1 . ADIEU , adieu ...
Стр. 14
... o'er . For pleasures past I do not grieve , Nor perils gathering near ; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear . 9 . " And now I'm in the world alone , Upon the wide , wide sea : But why should I for others groan ...
... o'er . For pleasures past I do not grieve , Nor perils gathering near ; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear . 9 . " And now I'm in the world alone , Upon the wide , wide sea : But why should I for others groan ...
Стр. 15
... o'er the hills expand ! But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge ' Gainst those who most transgress his high command With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host ...
... o'er the hills expand ! But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge ' Gainst those who most transgress his high command With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host ...
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Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt. (Harrow ed.). George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Полный просмотр - 1831 |
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
Albanian Ali Pacha ancient Ariosto Athens beauty beheld beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cæsar Canto Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero Constantinople dark death deem'd deep doth dust earth Egeria fair fame feel Ficus Ruminalis foes gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart heaven hills Historical Notes honour hope immortal Italian Italy lake land lightning live Lord mind mortal mountains never o'er once pass Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Romaic Roman Rome ruin scene shore sigh smile song soul spot Stanza Storia Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb triumph Venetians Venice walls waves wild winds woes wolf ἀπὸ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς εἰς τὴν ἐν καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ σᾶς τὰ τὰς τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν ὡς
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Стр. 126 - 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. 189 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal.
Стр. 107 - There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring.
Стр. 190 - 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. 127 - Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye ! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? Are ye like those within the human breast ? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest ? XCVII.
Стр. 42 - Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where, Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ? Gone — glimmering through the dream of things that were...
Стр. 99 - Is THY face like thy mother's, my fair child! Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope.
Стр. 106 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, - alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...
Стр. 124 - He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Стр. 101 - Yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame : And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd.