The Works of the Right Honourable Lord Byron: Childe HaroldJohn Murray, 1817 |
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Page 13
... thought , nor from his lips did come One word of wail , whilst others sate and wept , And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept . XIII . But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp , which he at times could string ...
... thought , nor from his lips did come One word of wail , whilst others sate and wept , And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept . XIII . But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp , which he at times could string ...
Page 25
... thought to flee , More restless than the swallow in the skies : Though here awhile he learned to moralize , For Meditation fixed at times on him ; And conscious Reason whispered to despise His early youth , mispent in maddest whim ; But ...
... thought to flee , More restless than the swallow in the skies : Though here awhile he learned to moralize , For Meditation fixed at times on him ; And conscious Reason whispered to despise His early youth , mispent in maddest whim ; But ...
Page 56
... Thought . 7 . Yet others rapt in pleasure seem , And taste of all that I forsake ; Oh ! may they still of transport dream , And ne'er , at least like me , awake ! 8 . Through many a clime ' tis mine to 56 Canto I. CHILDE HAROLD'S.
... Thought . 7 . Yet others rapt in pleasure seem , And taste of all that I forsake ; Oh ! may they still of transport dream , And ne'er , at least like me , awake ! 8 . Through many a clime ' tis mine to 56 Canto I. CHILDE HAROLD'S.
Page 65
... steel , and flame , and ages slow , Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Of men who never felt the sacred glow That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow.2 VOL . I. F II . Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where •
... steel , and flame , and ages slow , Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Of men who never felt the sacred glow That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow.2 VOL . I. F II . Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where •
Page 68
... Thought , the palace of the Soul : Behold through each lack - lustre , eyeless hole , The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit And Passion's host , that never brooked control : Can all , saint , sage , or sophist ever writ , People this ...
... Thought , the palace of the Soul : Behold through each lack - lustre , eyeless hole , The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit And Passion's host , that never brooked control : Can all , saint , sage , or sophist ever writ , People this ...
Autres éditions - Tout afficher
The Works of the Right Honourable Lord Byron: Childe Harold. 1 George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Affichage du livre entier - 1818 |
The Works of the Right Honourable Lord Byron: Childe Harold. 1 George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Affichage du livre entier - 1818 |
The Works of the Right Honourable Lord Byron, Volume 1 George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Affichage du livre entier - 1818 |
Fréquemment cités
Page 68 - Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul: Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit And Passion's host, that never brook'd control : Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ? VII. Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! "All that we know is, nothing can be known.
Page 128 - Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice ; and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
Page 32 - By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the air ! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.
Page 127 - Eximia veste et victu convivia, ludi, pocula crebra, unguenta coronae serta parantur, nequiquam, quoniam medio de fonte leporum surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat...
Page 130 - Man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven As make the angels weep.
Page 105 - Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth, And long accustomed bondage uncreate?
Page 31 - Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Flashing afar, - and at his iron feet Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; For on this morn three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
Page 89 - Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found! Rock, river, forest, mountain all abound, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul.
Page 139 - The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white ; the spare, active form ; their dialect, Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Mprven.
Page 23 - Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow : But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou ! Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow To halls deserted, portals gaping wide : Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied ; Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide ! XXIV.