The works of lord Byron, comprehending the suppressed poems, Томи 5 – 6 |
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Сторінка 16
... broke Their slumber ? his the oppress'd o'er - labour'd heart That ceased to beat , the look that made them start ? Could he who thus had suffer'd , so forget , When such as saw that suffering shudder yet ? 280 Or did that silence prove ...
... broke Their slumber ? his the oppress'd o'er - labour'd heart That ceased to beat , the look that made them start ? Could he who thus had suffer'd , so forget , When such as saw that suffering shudder yet ? 280 Or did that silence prove ...
Сторінка 26
... broke ; Yet there was something fix'd in that low tone , Which show'd resolve , determined , though un- known . 495 He seized his cloak - his head he slightly bow'd , And passing Ezzelin , he left the crowd ; And , as he pass'd him ...
... broke ; Yet there was something fix'd in that low tone , Which show'd resolve , determined , though un- known . 495 He seized his cloak - his head he slightly bow'd , And passing Ezzelin , he left the crowd ; And , as he pass'd him ...
Сторінка 30
... became His fiery climate than his tender frame : True , in his words it broke not from his breast , But from his aspect might be more than guess'd . Kaled his name , though rumour said he bore Another 30 CANTO I. LARA .
... became His fiery climate than his tender frame : True , in his words it broke not from his breast , But from his aspect might be more than guess'd . Kaled his name , though rumour said he bore Another 30 CANTO I. LARA .
Сторінка 47
... broke . X. What boots the oft - repeated tale of strife , The feast of vultures , and the waste of life ? 910 The varying fortune of each separate field , The fierce that vanquish , and the faint that yield ? The smoking ruin , and the ...
... broke . X. What boots the oft - repeated tale of strife , The feast of vultures , and the waste of life ? 910 The varying fortune of each separate field , The fierce that vanquish , and the faint that yield ? The smoking ruin , and the ...
Сторінка 56
... broke The accents his scarce - moving pale lips spoke ; But Lara's voice though low , at first was clear And calm , till murmuring death gasp'd hoarsely near : 1106 IIIO But from his visage little could we guess , So unrepentant , dark ...
... broke The accents his scarce - moving pale lips spoke ; But Lara's voice though low , at first was clear And calm , till murmuring death gasp'd hoarsely near : 1106 IIIO But from his visage little could we guess , So unrepentant , dark ...
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ABBOT Alhama apostolic palace art thou ASTARTE beautiful behold beneath Beppo blood Bonnivard bosom breast breath brow call'd Cavalier Servente CHAMOIS clouds cold courser dare dark Darvell dead death deep doth dread dream earth Ezzelin falchion fame fate fear feel fell fix'd forget gazed glance glory grave grew grief hand hast hath heard heart heaven Hetman hope hour immortal knew Lara Lara's light limbs lips living lonely look look'd LORD BYRON MANFRED Mazeppa mortal mountain ne'er never night numbers o'er once Otho pain Parisina pass'd past scarce scene seem'd shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh silent sleep smile sorrow soul sound spirit star steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought turn'd twas twere twill Venice voice wall waves weep Whate'er wild wither'd words youth Аввот
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Сторінка 124 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
Сторінка 125 - But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Сторінка 184 - With spiders I had friendship made, And watch'd them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they ? We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell ! In quiet we had learn'd to dwell. My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are ; — even I Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.
Сторінка 125 - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord...
Сторінка 100 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
Сторінка 99 - She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Сторінка 183 - And then there was a little isle, Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view ; A small green isle, it seem'd no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue.
Сторінка 176 - Was as a mockery of the tomb, Whose tints as gently sunk away As a departing rainbow's ray; An eye of most transparent light, That almost made the dungeon bright, And not a word of murmur, not A groan o'er his untimely lot...
Сторінка 209 - If it be life to wear within myself This barrenness of spirit, and to be My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased To justify my deeds unto myself — The last infirmity of evil.
Сторінка 230 - They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well : Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell.