Lord Byron's Works, Томи 1 – 2François Louis, at his French and English Library ... and Baudry, at the Foreign Library, 1821 |
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Сторінка xii
... tear of sensibility . Since that fatal period his Lordship has become a voluntary exile from the land of his forefathers ; but he has not been forsaken by the Muse , as the third and fourth cantos of Childe Harold prove , he can still ...
... tear of sensibility . Since that fatal period his Lordship has become a voluntary exile from the land of his forefathers ; but he has not been forsaken by the Muse , as the third and fourth cantos of Childe Harold prove , he can still ...
Сторінка 10
... tears — but not of grief . Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray ? Who doth not feel , until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight , His changing cheek , his sinking ...
... tears — but not of grief . Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray ? Who doth not feel , until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight , His changing cheek , his sinking ...
Сторінка 12
... tears That stifled feeling dare not shed , And changed her cheek from pale to red , And red to pale , as through her ears Those winged words like arrows sped , What could such be but maiden fears ? So bright the tear in Beauty's eye ...
... tears That stifled feeling dare not shed , And changed her cheek from pale to red , And red to pale , as through her ears Those winged words like arrows sped , What could such be but maiden fears ? So bright the tear in Beauty's eye ...
Сторінка 15
... tears my soul from thee : « Even Azrael , 18 from his deadly quiver « When flies that shaft , and fly it must , « < That parts all else , shall doom for ever " Our hearts to undivided dust ! » XII . He lived he breathed - he moved -- he ...
... tears my soul from thee : « Even Azrael , 18 from his deadly quiver « When flies that shaft , and fly it must , « < That parts all else , shall doom for ever " Our hearts to undivided dust ! » XII . He lived he breathed - he moved -- he ...
Сторінка 34
... tear of speechless praise ; « Dear as his native to Exile's ears , song - « Shall sound each tone thy long - loved voice endears . For thee in those bright isles is built a bower ་ ་ Blooming as Aden 39 in its earliest hour . « A ...
... tear of speechless praise ; « Dear as his native to Exile's ears , song - « Shall sound each tone thy long - loved voice endears . For thee in those bright isles is built a bower ་ ་ Blooming as Aden 39 in its earliest hour . « A ...
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Загальні терміни та фрази
Alfonso Amaun apostolic palace arms Bard behold beneath blood bosom breast breath BRIDE OF ABYDOS brow calpac CANTO CAPEL LOFFT Catullus charms cheek Conrad dare dark dead death deeds deemed deep doom doubt dread dream Dunciad earth Edinburgh Review fair fame fate fear feel foes forget friends gazed Giaffir's Giaour glance grave grief Gulnare hand Haram hate hath head heard heart heaven Hellespont hope hour Houris Juan Juan's Julia knew lady Lara Lara's lips living lonely look Lord Lord Byron Muse ne'er never night Note o'er once Pacha pale Parisina poem rest rhyme scarce seemed Selim she-the shore sigh silent slave sleep smile song soul spirit strife sweet tale tears tell thee thine thing thou thought Timariot Twas twere voice wave Whate'er wild wind words young youth Zuleika
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Сторінка 5 - KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime...
Сторінка 183 - It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word ; And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure...
Сторінка 18 - Poetic souls delight in prose insane; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime. Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of an idiot boy...
Сторінка 61 - Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense — the pulse's maddening play, That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way...
Сторінка 17 - Who warns his friend to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books, for fear of growing double; Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose...
Сторінка 5 - Gul in her bloom ; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute, Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In color though varied, in beauty may vie...
Сторінка 43 - 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; Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel; While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Сторінка 143 - A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped By choice the perils he by chance escaped; But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet His mind would half exult and half regret...
Сторінка 194 - Tis Greece, but living Greece no more ! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom, That hue which haunts it to the tomb ; Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of Feeling past away...
Сторінка 137 - At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, That still could keep afloat the struggling tars, For yet they strove, although of no great use : There was no light in heaven but a few stars, The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews ; She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And, going down head foremost — sunk, in short.