The works of lord Byron

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Página 347 - But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing Of gentle breath and hue.
Página 344 - A light broke in upon my brain, — It was the carol of a bird; It ceased, and then it came again, The sweetest song ear ever heard, And mine was thankful till my eyes Ran over with the glad surprise, And they that moment could not see I was the mate of misery.
Página 7 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) And mark'd the mild angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there, The fix'd yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, And but for that chill, changeless brow, Where cold Obstruction's...
Página 347 - It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count, I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote...
Página 9 - These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That tyranny shall quake to hear...
Página 333 - ETERNAL spirit of the chainless mind ! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art ! For there thy habitation is the heart, — The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; And when thy sons to fetters are consigned, — To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
Página 335 - MY hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears :+ My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are bann'd, and barr'd — forbidden fare...
Página 341 - Most cherish'd since his natal hour, His mother's image in fair face. The infant love of all his race.
Página 109 - SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,' Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light ! O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
Página 341 - Oh, God ! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood...

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