Lord Byron and his works, ed. [and tr.] by A. Kinloch

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Стр. 40 - KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime...
Стр. 25 - Twas not well to spurn it so. Though the world for this commend thee — Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe...
Стр. 40 - Gul in her bloom ; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute, Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In color though varied, in beauty may vie...
Стр. 9 - tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper ; Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour, For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their " midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.
Стр. 28 - Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, The apostle of affliction, he who threw Enchantment over passion, and from woe Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew How to make madness beautiful, and cast O'er erring deeds and thoughts, a heavenly hue Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.
Стр. 16 - Report had prepared me to meet a man of peculiar habits and a quick temper, and I had some doubts whether we were likely to suit each other in society. I was most agreeably disappointed in this respect. I found Lord Byron in the highest degree courteous, and even kind. We met for an hour or two, almost daily, in Mr. Murray's drawing-room, and found a great deal to say to each other.
Стр. 64 - Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story ; The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
Стр. 41 - tis but the same ; My pang shall find a voice./, From my youth upwards 5° My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes ; The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine ; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger ; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh...
Стр. 41 - From my youth upwards My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes ; The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine ; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger ; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me Was there but one who but of her anon.
Стр. 24 - Fare thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er canst know again: Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show!

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