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The Works of Lord Byron, Including the Suppressed Poems: Also a Sketch of ...
George Gordon Byron
Podgląd niedostępny - 2018
answer appear arms bear beauty beneath better blood born breast breath Byron CAIN cause chief dare dark dead death deep Doge earth Enter face fair fall father fear feel foes give grave Greek hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven honour hope hour Italy king knew land late least leave less light live look Lord means mind mountains nature ne'er never night noble Note o'er once palace pass past present prince rest rise round scarce scene seems seen shore slave smile soul sound speak spirit stand Stanza tears tell thee thine things thou thought thousand true turn voice walls waters wave wind wish young youth
Strona 66 - The sky is changed! - and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Strona 66 - And this is in the night. — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight — A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black — and now the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Strona 84 - 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 wantoned 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.
Strona 61 - But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.
Strona 133 - Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. -; Bear witness, Greece, thy living page Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom...
Strona 169 - O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows. On old -Egina's rock, and Idra's isle, The god of gladness sheds his parting smile ; O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, Though there his altars are no more divine. Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss Thy glorious gulf...
Strona 209 - And I have felt the winter's spray Wash through the bars when winds were high And wanton in the happy sky; And then the very rock hath rock'd, And I have felt it shake unshock'd, Because I could have smiled to see The death that would have set me free.
Strona 208 - 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...
Strona 84 - 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 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean— roll!
Strona xxii - Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell ! Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain.