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acquaintance affection afterwards answer appeared arrival asked beautiful believe called Canto cause character Childe considered continued death Don Juan England English expected express eyes feelings forced gave German give Government Greece Greek hand heard heart hope hussar idea interest Italian Italy kind knew Lady land least letter lines live look Lord Byron Lordship lost master mean Messolonghi mind nature never object observed once opinion party passed perhaps person play poem poet poetry present prove published reason received remain remember replied rest seems sent Shelley soon speak spirits Stanza story suppose taken tell thing thought tion told took translation turned whole wish write written wrote young
Сторінка 75 - 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. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Сторінка 90 - The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; * Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind.
Сторінка 16 - Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude Of the pine forest, and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood, Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er, To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, Evergreen forest!
Сторінка 35 - I have a passion for the name of " Mary," For once it was a magic sound to me, And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, Where I beheld what never was to be ; All feelings changed, but this was last to vary, A spell from which even yet I am not quite free : But I grow sad — and let a tale grow cold, Which must not be pathetically told.
Сторінка 75 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Сторінка 181 - His head was bound with pansies overblown, And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue; And a light spear topped with a cypress cone, Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasped it; of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart.
Сторінка 181 - 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.
Сторінка 69 - And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep ; and if I weep, Tis that our nature cannot always bring Itself to apathy...