Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries: With Recollections of the Author's Life, and of His Visit to Italy, Том 1H. Colburn, 1828 - 494 стор. |
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Сторінка xiv
... feel them more than I ought . It is in the nature of things for those who differ with society , to be misconceived even by the best men , who are not very discern- ing : how much more must they reckon upon the attacks and mis ...
... feel them more than I ought . It is in the nature of things for those who differ with society , to be misconceived even by the best men , who are not very discern- ing : how much more must they reckon upon the attacks and mis ...
Сторінка xv
... feel it to be their interest that he should ; and they learn even to bring out their vir- tues at the warmth of his belief in virtue . But meanwhile it is only by an effort of generosity , that any man implicated in the present state of ...
... feel it to be their interest that he should ; and they learn even to bring out their vir- tues at the warmth of his belief in virtue . But meanwhile it is only by an effort of generosity , that any man implicated in the present state of ...
Сторінка xxxv
... feel prouder than self - knowledge will allow me to feel with any thing more my own . The writer in the Athenæum , ( whose re- marks I had not entirely seen till the rest of this preface had been written , ) has offered me advice on one ...
... feel prouder than self - knowledge will allow me to feel with any thing more my own . The writer in the Athenæum , ( whose re- marks I had not entirely seen till the rest of this preface had been written , ) has offered me advice on one ...
Сторінка xxxvi
... feel to be provoking , it is want of fairness and open dealing . It is vexatious enough even in such shallow fellows as this knave of the Quarterly ; but to meet with it among friends , and friends of humanity at large ( for such I take ...
... feel to be provoking , it is want of fairness and open dealing . It is vexatious enough even in such shallow fellows as this knave of the Quarterly ; but to meet with it among friends , and friends of humanity at large ( for such I take ...
Сторінка 60
... feel quite secure of the bon - mots of his brother wit . His conscience had taught him suspicion ; and it was a fault with him and his côterie , as it is with most , that they all talked too much of one another behind their backs . But ...
... feel quite secure of the bon - mots of his brother wit . His conscience had taught him suspicion ; and it was a fault with him and his côterie , as it is with most , that they all talked too much of one another behind their backs . But ...
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acquaintance admired afterwards Albaro appeared Bard Baubo Bay of Spezia beauty believe body called Captain compliment confess connexion contradiction critics DEAR HUNT delight Don Juan doubt England English eyes fancy Faust feel genius Genoa gentleman give Goethe good-humoured handsome Hazlitt heart honour hope Italian Italy Keats kind knew lady Lady Byron laugh least Leghorn Leigh Hunt Lerici less letters Liberal lived look Lord Byron Lord Holland Lordship Madame Guiccioli manner matter mean Medwin Meph mistake Moore moral nature never noble occasion opinion Parisina passage passion perhaps person Pisa pleasure poem poet poetical poetry pretended reader reason respect Rimini seemed sense Shelley Shelley's sincerity sort speak spirit spleen talk tell thing thou thought tion told took truth Via Reggio wish word write written young
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Сторінка 429 - While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd ; With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon ; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez ; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.
Сторінка 434 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare...
Сторінка 437 - Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth -thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! • Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod.
Сторінка 435 - Ode to a Nightingale MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Сторінка 436 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Сторінка 436 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays...
Сторінка 437 - As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?
Сторінка 411 - Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: — Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Сторінка 340 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
Сторінка 437 - Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket...