The poetical works of lord Byron, with lifeGall & Inglis, 1859 - 576 páginas |
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Página viii
... hate , and wage war with mankind . It is much to be regretted that Byron was taken by his peers just for what he was , or rather for what he gave himself out to be , which , by a strange perversity , was even worse than the reality ...
... hate , and wage war with mankind . It is much to be regretted that Byron was taken by his peers just for what he was , or rather for what he gave himself out to be , which , by a strange perversity , was even worse than the reality ...
Página 10
... hate . TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS . YE Cupids , droop each little head , Nor let your wings with joy be spread , My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead , Whom dearer than her eyes she loved : For he was gentle , and so true , Obedient to her ...
... hate . TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS . YE Cupids , droop each little head , Nor let your wings with joy be spread , My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead , Whom dearer than her eyes she loved : For he was gentle , and so true , Obedient to her ...
Página 17
... hate you , ye cold compositions of art ! Though prudes may condemn me , and bigots reprove , I court the effusions that spring from the heart , Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love . Your shepherds , your flocks , those ...
... hate you , ye cold compositions of art ! Though prudes may condemn me , and bigots reprove , I court the effusions that spring from the heart , Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love . Your shepherds , your flocks , those ...
Página 29
... hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew ; Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins ; He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu ! How he envies the wretch with a soul rapt in ...
... hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew ; Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins ; He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu ! How he envies the wretch with a soul rapt in ...
Página 39
... hate , I track'd Æneas through the walks of fate : Thou know'st my deeds , my breast devoid of fear And hostile life - drops dim my gory spear . Here is a soul with hope immortal burns , And life , ignoble life , for glory spurns . Fame ...
... hate , I track'd Æneas through the walks of fate : Thou know'st my deeds , my breast devoid of fear And hostile life - drops dim my gory spear . Here is a soul with hope immortal burns , And life , ignoble life , for glory spurns . Fame ...
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The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, with Life Lord George Gordon Byron, Lord No hay ninguna vista previa disponible - 2015 |
Términos y frases comunes
adieu Albania ANACREON Athens bard beauty behold beneath blest blood bosom breast breath brow Byron Calmar CATULLUS cheek Childe Harold clouds dare dark dead dear death deeds deep dread dream dwell earth Edinburgh Review fair falchion fame fate fear feel fix'd foes forget gaze Giaour glance glory glow grave Greece grief hand hast hate hath heard heart heaven hope hour kiss land Lara's lips live lonely look Lord Lord Byron lyre mingle mortal mountain muse ne'er never Newstead Abbey night numbers o'er once Parisina pass'd passion perchance poem pride Samian wine scarce scene seem'd shine shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh slave sleep smile song soothe soul spirit sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought tomb turn'd twas twill voice wall wave weep wild wind wing words young youth Zuleika
Pasajes populares
Página 388 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Página 447 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Página 491 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one ? You have the letters Cadmus gave — Think ye he meant them for a slave ? Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Página 490 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Página 491 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! We will not think of themes like these ! It made Anacreon's song divine: He served — but served Polycrates : A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen.
Página 463 - THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee ; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming, And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep ; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep...
Página 284 - I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise For years — I cannot count them o'er, I lost their long and heavy score When my last brother droop'd and died. And I lay living by his side. They chain'd us each to a column stone, And we were three — yet, each alone : We could not move a single pace, We could not see each other's face. But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight...
Página 397 - The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine...
Página 404 - He is an evening reveller who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still, There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil. Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Página 283 - 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.