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 i
... speak truth . " In the examples , which I here bring in , of what I have heard , read , done , or said , I have forbid myself to dare to alter even the most light and indifferent circumstances . My conscience does not falsify one tittle ...
... speak truth . " In the examples , which I here bring in , of what I have heard , read , done , or said , I have forbid myself to dare to alter even the most light and indifferent circumstances . My conscience does not falsify one tittle ...
Сторінка vii
... vindictive , and that I speak the truth . I have not told all : for I have no right to do so . In the present case it would also be inhumanity , both to the dead and the living . But what I have told is not to be gainsaid PREFACE . vii.
... vindictive , and that I speak the truth . I have not told all : for I have no right to do so . In the present case it would also be inhumanity , both to the dead and the living . But what I have told is not to be gainsaid PREFACE . vii.
Сторінка x
... speaking disagreeable truths of any man , much more of one whose unquestionable love of truth would have reconciled him to the hearing them , the article had quite enough of what was panegyrical in it to do him justice . But more ...
... speaking disagreeable truths of any man , much more of one whose unquestionable love of truth would have reconciled him to the hearing them , the article had quite enough of what was panegyrical in it to do him justice . But more ...
Сторінка xvii
... speaking for myself in the meantime , I confess I have no wish to be thought ill of by any body ; and the fault ( singularly enough ) is at variance with what I have said against it in the book , when I speak of some of my former ...
... speaking for myself in the meantime , I confess I have no wish to be thought ill of by any body ; and the fault ( singularly enough ) is at variance with what I have said against it in the book , when I speak of some of my former ...
Сторінка xxvi
... speak the truth , and that it is better to get at the truth out of my own mouth , than charge me directly with want of it ) that I have kept back this one letter writ- ten to me by Lord Byron , while I have published various others ...
... speak the truth , and that it is better to get at the truth out of my own mouth , than charge me directly with want of it ) that I have kept back this one letter writ- ten to me by Lord Byron , while I have published various others ...
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Загальні терміни та фрази
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...