The Works of Lord Byron, Հատոր 11J. Murray, 1900 |
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answer appeared April Armenian arrived August Augusta Leigh believe Bologna Canto Childe Harold copy Countess Guiccioli damned daughter DEAR SIR,-I death Don Juan England English father feel Florence friends Gifford gondola hear heard Hobhouse honour hope horses husband Italian Italy John Hanson John Murray June Kinnaird Lady Lady Morgan least letter living Lord Byron Madame Manfred March Marino Faliero married mean Memoirs Mira Moore's never Newstead opinion perhaps person poem poet poetry Police Polidori Pope Pray present pretty prose published Quarterly Ravenna received recollect Review Richard Belgrave Hoppner Rome sent Shelley Sotheby Southey stanza suppose sure talk tell thing Thomas Moore thought told translation truly Venetian Venice verse Wat Tyler wife wish word write written wrote
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Էջ 149 - Though the ocean roar around me, Yet it still shall bear me on : Though a desert should surround me, It hath springs that may be won. Were't the last drop in the well, As I gasped upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell, Tis to thee that I would drink.
Էջ 142 - I STOOD in 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 smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Էջ 169 - With regard to poetry in general, I am convinced, the more I think of it, that he and all of us — Scott, Southey, Wordsworth, Moore, Campbell, I — are all in the wrong, one as much as another ; that we are upon a wrong revolutionary poetical system, or systems, not worth a damn in itself, and from which none but Rogers and Crabbe aro free ; and that the present and next generations will finally be of this opinion.
Էջ 493 - O may some spark of your celestial fire, The last, the meanest of your sons inspire, (That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights; Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes,) To teach vain wits a science little known, T' admire superior sense, and doubt their own!
Էջ 148 - My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here's a double health to thee!
Էջ 490 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Էջ 315 - I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country. I believe the thought would drive me mad on my deathbed, could I suppose that any of my friends would be base enough to convey my carcass back to your soil. I would not even feed your worms, if I could help it.
Էջ 146 - Their medicinal gum. Set you down this; And say besides, that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog, And smote him, thus.
Էջ 292 - Guiccioli, who awaits him impatiently, is a very pretty, sentimental, innocent Italian, who has sacrificed an immense fortune for the sake of Lord Byron, and who, if I know anything of my friend, of her and of human nature, will hereafter have plenty of leisure and opportunity to repent her rashness.
Էջ 284 - I'll try no such thing ; I hate tasks. And then 'seven or eight years!' God send us all well this day three months, let alone years. If one's years can't be better employed than in sweating poesy, a man had better be a ditcher. And works, too! — is Childe Harold nothing? You have so many 'divine...