Journal of the Conversations of Lord Byron: Noted During a Residence with His Lordship at Pisa, in the Years 1821 and 1822, Томи 1 – 2

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Wilder & Campbell, 1824 - 304 стор.
 

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Сторінка 105 - He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him ; nor below Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife...
Сторінка 112 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Сторінка 113 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow!
Сторінка 208 - Ward has no heart, they say ; but I deny it;— He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.
Сторінка 113 - ... misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Сторінка 173 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Сторінка 113 - But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Сторінка 256 - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
Сторінка 300 - Tread those reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood! — unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. If thou regret'st thy youth, why live? The land of honourable death Is here: — up to the field, and give Away thy breath! Seek out — less often sought than found — A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around and choose thy ground, And take thy rest.
Сторінка 31 - Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude Of the pine forest, and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood...

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