The Works of Lord Byron, Volumen 1


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Página 364 - So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart...
Página x - Hours of Idleness ; a Series of Poems, original and translated. By GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON, a Minor.
Página 281 - But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone...
Página 281 - Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth : While man, vain insect ! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thec with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust...
Página 283 - FILL the goblet again ! for I never before Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core ; Let us drink ! — who would not ? — since, through life's varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found. I have tried in its turn all that life can supply ; I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye ; I have loved ! — who has not ? — but what heart can declare That pleasure existed while passion was there ? In the days of...
Página 279 - ... that time, I deem'd that pride, Had quench'd at length my boyish flame : Nor knew, till seated by thy side, My heart in all, — save hope, — the same. Yet was I calm : I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look ; But now to tremble were a crime — We met, — and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there : One only feeling couldst thou trace ; The sullen calmness of despair. Away ! away ! my early dream Remembrance never must awake :...
Página 276 - START not — nor deem my spirit fled : In me behold the only skull, From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee ; I died : let earth my bones resign : Fill up — thou canst not injure me ; The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Better to hold the sparkling grape, Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood ; And circle in the goblet's shape The drink of gods, than reptile's food. Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, In aid of others' let...
Página 458 - 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.
Página 494 - I believe I could have forgiven even that — but to be monkeyled for a night! — to run the gauntlet through a string of amorous palming puppies! — to show paces like a managed filly!
Página 311 - And think'st thou, Scott! by vain conceit perchance, On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though Murray with his Miller may combine To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? No! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Let such forego the poet's sacred name. Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain!

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