The poetical works of lord Byron, ed. with a critical mem. by W. M. RossettiWard Lock, 1880 |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 82–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
Էջ xiv
... present occa- sion Miss Milbanke declined his offer ; but she and Byron continued corresponding on terms of friendship , not at all of courtship . The lady was , in point of age , a very appropriate choice , being a little younger than ...
... present occa- sion Miss Milbanke declined his offer ; but she and Byron continued corresponding on terms of friendship , not at all of courtship . The lady was , in point of age , a very appropriate choice , being a little younger than ...
Էջ xv
... present there- fore I feel it right to eliminate this gross and ghastly story from the materials of Byron's life : not to reject it , for it may yet prove to be true , but to exclude it as hitherto unverified . Lord Wentworth died in ...
... present there- fore I feel it right to eliminate this gross and ghastly story from the materials of Byron's life : not to reject it , for it may yet prove to be true , but to exclude it as hitherto unverified . Lord Wentworth died in ...
Էջ 1
... present edition they are erased , and some of my own substituted in their stead ; my only reason for this being that which I conceive would operate with any other person in the same manner , a determination not to publish with my name ...
... present edition they are erased , and some of my own substituted in their stead ; my only reason for this being that which I conceive would operate with any other person in the same manner , a determination not to publish with my name ...
Էջ 12
... present seem'd to cease , And glory knew no clime beyond her Greece ! Hours rolled along , and Dian's orb on high Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky ; And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish ...
... present seem'd to cease , And glory knew no clime beyond her Greece ! Hours rolled along , and Dian's orb on high Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky ; And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish ...
Էջ 17
... present cheer . Yea , none did love him - not his lemans dear- But pomp and power alone are woman's care , And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; Maidens , like moths , are ever caught by glare , And Mammon wins his way where ...
... present cheer . Yea , none did love him - not his lemans dear- But pomp and power alone are woman's care , And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; Maidens , like moths , are ever caught by glare , And Mammon wins his way where ...
Այլ խմբագրություններ - View all
Common terms and phrases
Adah Anah art thou aught beauty behold beneath blood bosom breast breath brow Cæs Cain call'd Calmar coursers dare dark dead death deep Doge doth dread dream e'er earth eyes fair fame father fear feel gaze Giaour glory grave Greece hand hath hear heard heart heaven honour hope hour Iden Juan king knew Lady leave less Lioni live look look'd lord Lucifer Michel Steno mortal Myrrha ne'er never night nought o'er once PANIA pass'd passion Rome round SARDANAPALUS satraps scarce scene seem'd shore Sieg Siegendorf sigh sire slave sleep smile soul spirit stars Stral strange Suwarrow sweet sword tears thee thine things thou art thought turn'd twas twill unto voice wave whate'er wild words young youth
Սիրված հատվածներ
Էջ 38 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed. The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. Or whispering with white lips — "The foe! They come! they come ! " And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering
Էջ 134 - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
Էջ 38 - No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark! - that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is - it is - the cannon's opening roar!
Էջ 555 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Էջ 555 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail : And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Էջ 403 - Phoebus sprung. Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian Muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute Have found the fame your shores refuse. Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires
Էջ 64 - 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 64 - 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...
Էջ 64 - 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 403 - Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush - for Greece a tear.