The True Story of Lord & Lady Byron as Told by Lord Macaulay, Thomas Moore, Leigh Hunt, Thomas Campbell, the Countess of Blessington, Lord Lindsay, the Countess GuiccioliJ. M J. C. Hotten, 1869 - 189 стор. |
Інші видання - Показати все
The True Story of Lord and Lady Byron as Told by Lord Macaulay, Thomas Moore ... J. M. Повний перегляд - 1869 |
The True Story of Lord & Lady Byron as Told by Lord Macaulay, Thomas Moore ... J. M Повний перегляд - 1869 |
The True Story of Lord and Lady Byron: As Told by Lord Macaulay, Thomas ... J. M. Попередній перегляд недоступний - 1999 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
accusation acquaintance affection answer Atlantic Monthly AUGUSTA Augusta Leigh bear beautiful believe Blessington calumny cause character charge child circumstances Clytemnestra cold conduct Countess Guiccioli COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON daughter domestic dread edition England English falsehood father favour feel fortune friends gave genius GEORGE CRUIKSHANK habits happy hath heart honour hope hour husband John Camden Hotten Kirkby Mallory knew Lady Blessington Lady Byron Lady Noel LEIGH LEIGH HUNT letter live London look Lord Byron marriage married memoirs mind misfortune Miss Milbanke Moore Moore's moral nature never noble o'er once opinion pain passions perhaps person Piccadilly poet pride published readers refused remorse Seaham separation silence Sir Ralph sister slander smile soul speak spirit Stowe's tears thee thine things THOMAS CAMPBELL thou wert thought tion told True Story truth virtue wife wish woman word writing written wrote
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 55 - Fare thee well! and if for ever Still for ever, fare thee well Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er can'st know again: Would that breast by thee glanc'd over, Every inmost thought could show!
Сторінка 72 - With a convulsion— then arose again, And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear What he had written, but he shed no tears...
Сторінка 130 - We know no spectacle so ridiculous as the British public in one of its periodical fits of morality.
Сторінка 131 - ... expiatory sacrifice. If he has children, they are to be taken from him. If he has a profession, he is to be driven from it. He is cut by the higher orders, and hissed by the lower." He is, in truth, a sort of whipping-boy, by whose vicarious agonies, all the other transgressors of the same class are, it is supposed, sufficiently chastised. We reflect very complacently on our own severity, and compare with great pride the high standard of morals established in England, with the Parisian laxity....
Сторінка 64 - Twas folly not sooner to shun : And if dearly that error hath cost me, And more than I once could foresee, I have found that, whatever it lost me, It could not deprive me of thee.
Сторінка 70 - t were the cape of a long ridge of such, Save that there was no sea to lave its base, But a most living landscape...
Сторінка 74 - I saw him stand Before an altar — with a gentle bride ; Her face was fair, but was not that which made The starlight of his Boyhood.
Сторінка 34 - Those thou never more may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me. All my faults perchance thou knowest, All my madness none can know ; All my hopes, where'er thou goest, Wither, yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken ; Pride, which not a world could bow. Bows to thee — by thee forsaken, Even my soul forsakes me now...
Сторінка 62 - He fed on poisons, and they had no power, But were a kind of nutriment ; he lived Through that which had been death to many men, And made him friends of mountains : with the stars And the quick Spirit of the Universe He held his dialogues, and they did teach To him the magic of their mysteries ; To him the book of Night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret.
Сторінка 56 - Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaineth, Still must mine, though bleeding, beat ; And the undying thought which paineth Is — that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead ; Both shall live, but every morrow Wake us from a widow'd bed. And when thou wouldst solace gather, When our child's first accents flow, Wilt thou teach her to say ' Father ! ' Though his care she must forego?