The Works of the Right Honourable Lord Byron: Prisoner of Chillon. Manfred. Lament of Tasso, &cJohn Murray, 1818 |
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Página 86
... dost feel Shall be what thou must conceal . And a magic voice and verse Hath baptized thee with a curse ; And a spirit of the air Hath begirt thee with a snare ; In the wind there is a voice Shall forbid thee to rejoice ; And to thee ...
... dost feel Shall be what thou must conceal . And a magic voice and verse Hath baptized thee with a curse ; And a spirit of the air Hath begirt thee with a snare ; In the wind there is a voice Shall forbid thee to rejoice ; And to thee ...
Página 99
... glaciers , now Let it do thus for thine - Come , pledge me fairly . MAN . Away , away ! there's blood upon the brim ! Will it then never - never sink in the earth ? C. HUN . What dost thou mean ? thy senses H 2 Scene 1 . 99 MANFRED .
... glaciers , now Let it do thus for thine - Come , pledge me fairly . MAN . Away , away ! there's blood upon the brim ! Will it then never - never sink in the earth ? C. HUN . What dost thou mean ? thy senses H 2 Scene 1 . 99 MANFRED .
Página 100
George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. C. HUN . What dost thou mean ? thy senses wander from thee . MAN . I say ' tis blood - my blood ! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers , and in ours When we were in our youth , and ...
George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. C. HUN . What dost thou mean ? thy senses wander from thee . MAN . I say ' tis blood - my blood ! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers , and in ours When we were in our youth , and ...
Página 102
... dost see , or think thou look'st upon ? MAN . Myself , and thee - a peasant of the Alps— Thy humble virtues , hospitable home , And spirit patient , pious , proud and free ; Thy self - respect , grafted on innocent thoughts ; Thy days ...
... dost see , or think thou look'st upon ? MAN . Myself , and thee - a peasant of the Alps— Thy humble virtues , hospitable home , And spirit patient , pious , proud and free ; Thy self - respect , grafted on innocent thoughts ; Thy days ...
Página 112
... , but not hers - and yet her blood was shed- I saw - and could not staunch it . WITCH . And for this →→→ A being of the race thou dost despise , The order which thine own would rise above , Mingling 112 Act II . MANFRED .
... , but not hers - and yet her blood was shed- I saw - and could not staunch it . WITCH . And for this →→→ A being of the race thou dost despise , The order which thine own would rise above , Mingling 112 Act II . MANFRED .
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Términos y frases comunes
ABBOT Alps answer Arimanes ASTARTE beautiful BEN JONSON beneath bird blood Bonnivard breath brow Cantos castle chain CHAMOIS HUNTER change came o'er clay clouds cold curse darkness death despair destiny doth dread dream dungeon dwell earth Edition eternal Exit MANFRED eyes fatal fear feel Ferrara fetters Gadara Geneve grave grief hath heart heaven her's HERMAN hour immortal LAMENT OF TASSO light live look LORD LORD BYRON MANUEL mind mix'd mortal mountain NEMESIS night nivard o'er the spirit ocean Pausanias pause perish'd Poem PRISONER OF CHILLON qu'il rise SCENE shadow slumber smile solitude soul speak star stood strange sunbow's tears thee thine things THOMAS CAMPBELL thou art thou didst thou dost thoughts thyself torrent torture twas twere Twill voice walls WALTER SCOTT wandering wave WILLIAM GIFFORD wind WITCH words wreck wretched ΜΑΝ Аввот
Pasajes populares
Página 21 - For he would never thus have flown, And left me twice so doubly lone, — Lone — as the corse within its shroud, Lone — as a solitary cloud, A single cloud on a sunny day, While all the rest of heaven is clear, A frown upon the atmosphere, That hath no business to appear When skies are blue, and earth is gay.
Página 2 - 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.
Página 15 - He faded, and so calm and meek, So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender, kind, And grieved for those he left behind ; With all the while a cheek whose bloom Was as a mockery of the tomb, Whose tints as gently sunk away As a departing rainbow's ray...
Página 6 - And in each pillar there is a ring, And in each ring there is a chain; That iron is a cankering thing, For in these limbs its teeth remain...
Página 85 - Though thy slumber may be deep Yet thy spirit shall not sleep; There are shades which will not vanish, There are thoughts thou canst not banish...
Página 15 - ... as gently sunk away As a departing rainbow's ray — An eye of most transparent light, That almost made the dungeon bright, And not a word of murmur — not A groan o'er his untimely lot, — A little talk of better days, A little hope my own...
Página 27 - With spiders I had friendship made, And watched them in their sullen trade; Had seen the mice by moonlight play — And why should I feel less than they? We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill; yet, strange to tell! In quiet we had learned to dwell. My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are: — even I Regained my freedom with a sigh.
Página 52 - That in the antique oratory shook His bosom in its solitude; and then — As in that hour — a moment o'er his face The tablet of unutterable thoughts Was traced — and then it faded as it came...
Página 30 - Though the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find ; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but in thee.
Página 50 - Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds Of fiery climes he made himself a home, And his Soul drank their sunbeams: he was girt With strange and dusky aspects; he was not Himself like what he had been; on the sea And on the shore he was a wanderer; There was a mass of many images Crowded like waves upon me...