Childe Harold: Canto the Fourth, The Prisoner of Chillon and MazepaHoughton Mifflin Company, 1909 - 136 էջ |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 22–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
Էջ iii
... mother , Catherine Gordon , was also of aristo- cratic birth , being descended from James I. of Scotland , through his daughter Annabella , married to the second Earl of Huntley . The mother was a woman of ungovernable tem- per , so ...
... mother , Catherine Gordon , was also of aristo- cratic birth , being descended from James I. of Scotland , through his daughter Annabella , married to the second Earl of Huntley . The mother was a woman of ungovernable tem- per , so ...
Էջ iv
... mother . " Early Train- ing and Schooling When Byron was a mere infant the mother moved from London to Aberdeen , Scotland . The father was a tran- sient visitor here until his death in 1791. Neither parent seems to have exerted the ...
... mother . " Early Train- ing and Schooling When Byron was a mere infant the mother moved from London to Aberdeen , Scotland . The father was a tran- sient visitor here until his death in 1791. Neither parent seems to have exerted the ...
Էջ 16
... other land Thy wrongs should ring , and shall , from side to side ; Mother of Arts , as once of arms ; thy hand Was then our guardian , and is still our guide ; Parent of our Religion , whom the wide 420 Nations 16 BYRON.
... other land Thy wrongs should ring , and shall , from side to side ; Mother of Arts , as once of arms ; thy hand Was then our guardian , and is still our guide ; Parent of our Religion , whom the wide 420 Nations 16 BYRON.
Էջ 27
... mother of dead empires , and control In their shut breasts their petty misery . What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress , hear the owl , and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples , Ye ! Whose agonies ...
... mother of dead empires , and control In their shut breasts their petty misery . What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress , hear the owl , and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples , Ye ! Whose agonies ...
Էջ 30
... mother of the mighty heart , Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat , Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's ethereal dart , And thy limbs black with lightning - dost thou yet Guard thine immortal cubs , nor thy fond charge forget ...
... mother of the mighty heart , Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat , Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's ethereal dart , And thy limbs black with lightning - dost thou yet Guard thine immortal cubs , nor thy fond charge forget ...
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Childe Harold: Canto the Fourth, The Prisoner of Chillon and Mazepa George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Ամբողջությամբ դիտվող - 1909 |
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15 cents Æneid Apollo Belvedere Arqua ashes Bards Battle of Pultowa beauty beneath Biographical Sketch blood bound breast breath brow Byron Cæsar cantos castle castle of Chillon chain Childe Harold Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Coliseum Cossacks Crown 8vo Dante dark dead death deep dome doth dread dungeon dust E. H. Coleridge earth effect English eyes feel Florence foes gaze GEORGE HERBERT PALMER glory gray hath heart heaven Hetman Hobhouse hope hour hyæna immortal Italy Julius Cæsar King lake light limbs linen Literature Lord Mazeppa mighty mind monarch mother mountains Napoleon night Note o'er ocean Petrarch poem poet Prisoner of Chillon Riverside Shakespeare Roman Rome round ruin scene seem'd seen shine shore soul spirit Stanza star steed Tasso tears thee thine thou thought tomb tree Ukraine Venice wall waters waves wild wind woes youth
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Էջ 27 - The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye!
Էջ 62 - 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 cannot all conceal.
Էջ 63 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war, — These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Էջ 49 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low : And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Էջ 49 - Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Էջ 63 - Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wash'd them power while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: — not so thou; Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Էջ 64 - 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 wanton'd 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.
Էջ 28 - But Rome is as the desert — where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap Our hands, and cry 'Eureka!
Էջ 62 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed...
Էջ 62 - His steps are not upon thy paths— thy fields Are not a spoil for him— thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth — there let him lay.