The Works of Lord Byron: With His Letters and Journals and His Life, Volumen 4

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Página 35 - 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!
Página 16 - Thou material God ! And representative of the Unknown — Who chose thee for his shadow ! Thou chief star ! Centre of many stars ! which mak'st our earth Endurable, and temperest the hues And hearts of all who walk within thy rays...
Página 247 - Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters ; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. Thus to their hopeless eyes...
Página 198 - 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 : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her...
Página 103 - ... direct his energies to such an end, of becoming the redeemer of his degraded country. But it is his weakness to be proud. He derives, from a comparison of his own extraordinary mind with the dwarfish intellects that surround him, an intense apprehension of the nothingness of human life. His passions and his powers are incomparably greater than those of other men; and, instead of the latter having been employed in curbing the former, they have mutually lent each other strength. His ambition preys...
Página 16 - Glorious Orb! the idol Of early nature, and the vigorous race Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons Of the embrace of angels, with a sex More beautiful than they, which did draw down The erring spirits who can ne'er return.
Página 187 - But you will recognise the handwriting of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book which was yours, he could only think of love. In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours — Amor mio — is comprised my existence here and hereafter.
Página 12 - Kalon," found, And seated in my soul. It will not last, But it is well to have known it, though but once: It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense...
Página 56 - 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.
Página 56 - I am the more confirmed in this by having lately gone over some of our classics, particularly Pope whom I tried in this way...

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