Letters & Journals of Lord Byron: With Notices of His Life, Volume 2

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Էջ 512 - 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...
Էջ 210 - To pain — it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me : They may crush, but they shall not contemn — They may torture, but shall not subdue me — 'Tis of thee that I think— not of them.
Էջ 367 - In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
Էջ 210 - Deserved to be dearest of all: In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
Էջ 388 - Moore's poems and my own and some others, and went over them side by side with Pope's, and I was really astonished ( I ought not to have been so) and mortified at the ineffable distance in point of sense, harmony, effect, and even imagination, passion, and invention, between the little Queen Anne's man, and us of the Lower Empire. Depend upon it, it is all Horace then, and Claudian now, among us ; and if I had to begin again, I would mould myself accordingly.
Էջ 260 - For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart I know myself secure, as thou in mine; We were and are — I am, even as thou art — Beings who ne'er each other can resign; It is the same, together or apart, From life's commencement to its slow decline We are entwined — let death come slow or fast, The tie which bound the first endures the last!
Էջ 372 - Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate ; And whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. 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 gasp'd upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell, 'Tis to thee that I would drink. With that water, as this wine, The libation I would pour Should be — peace with thine and mine, And a health to thee,...
Էջ 388 - 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 are free ; and that the present and next generations will finally be of this opinion.
Էջ 501 - Teresa, — I have read this book in your garden ; — my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. You will not understand these English words, and others will not understand them, — which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian. But you will recognise the...
Էջ 474 - That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. — Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ ; in glorious Christian field Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross, Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens : And, toil'd with works of war, retired himself To Italy ; and there at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long.

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