The Works of Lord Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, by Thomas Moore, Esq, Zväzok 9J. Murray, 1832 |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 44.
Strana 8
... voice of fame . Among them is Lord Byron's , con- nected with some lines which I here send you.-H. W. WILLIAMS . ] ON PARTING . THE kiss , dear maid ! thy 8 OCCASIONAL PIECES . Lines in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus.
... voice of fame . Among them is Lord Byron's , con- nected with some lines which I here send you.-H. W. WILLIAMS . ] ON PARTING . THE kiss , dear maid ! thy 8 OCCASIONAL PIECES . Lines in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus.
Strana 15
... voice , But sweet to me from none but thine ; - The pledge we wore I wear it still , But where is thine ? Ah ! where art thou ? Oft have I borne the weight of ill , But never bent beneath till now ! Well hast thou left in life's best ...
... voice , But sweet to me from none but thine ; - The pledge we wore I wear it still , But where is thine ? Ah ! where art thou ? Oft have I borne the weight of ill , But never bent beneath till now ! Well hast thou left in life's best ...
Strana 16
... voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd , and all their charms are fled ; And now their softest notes repeat A dirge , an anthem o'er the dead ! Yes , Thyrza ! yes , they breathe of thee , Beloved dust ! since dust thou art ...
... voice that made those sounds more sweet Is hush'd , and all their charms are fled ; And now their softest notes repeat A dirge , an anthem o'er the dead ! Yes , Thyrza ! yes , they breathe of thee , Beloved dust ! since dust thou art ...
Strana 17
... voice I would not hear , A voice that now might well be still : Yet oft my doubting soul ' twill shake ; Even slumber owns its gentle tone , Till consciousness will vainly wake To listen , though the dream be flown . Sweet Thyrza ...
... voice I would not hear , A voice that now might well be still : Yet oft my doubting soul ' twill shake ; Even slumber owns its gentle tone , Till consciousness will vainly wake To listen , though the dream be flown . Sweet Thyrza ...
Strana 31
... voice and eye alone direct The boundless power to cherish or reject ; If e'er frivolity has led to fame , And made us blush that you forbore to blame ; If e'er the sinking stage could condescend To soothe the sickly taste it dare not ...
... voice and eye alone direct The boundless power to cherish or reject ; If e'er frivolity has led to fame , And made us blush that you forbore to blame ; If e'er the sinking stage could condescend To soothe the sickly taste it dare not ...
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Časté výrazy a frázy
antè Athens bard bear beauty blood bosom breast bride Bride of Abydos canto Capel Lofft Childe Harold Conrad couplet dare dark dear death deeds Edinburgh Review fear feel foes gaze GEORGE ELLIS Giaffir Giaour Greek grief hand hast hate hath hear heart heaven heroic couplet hope hour less live lonely Lord Byron Lord Chamberlain Mamurra MOORE ne'er never night numbers o'er once Pacha pass'd poem poet poetry Pope praise quæ quid rhyme Romaic scarce scene seem'd Selim shore slave smile song soothe soul tale tears tell thee thine thing thou thought Twas verse voice Waltz wave Whate'er words Zuleika ἀπὸ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς ἐν καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ σᾶς τὰ τὰς τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν
Populárne pasáže
Strana 207 - 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...
Strana viii - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder...
Strana 152 - Such is the aspect of this shore; >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...
Strana 153 - These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own ; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That tyranny shall quake to hear...
Strana 151 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, The first, last look by death reveal'd...
Strana 153 - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Attest it many a deathless age ! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land ! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die...
Strana 254 - Ours the wild life in tumult still to range From toil to rest, and joy in every change. Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! Whom slumber soothes...
Strana 299 - Morea's hills the setting sun; not as in northern climes obscurely bright, but one unclouded blaze of living light : o'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws, gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows. On old jEgina's rock and Idra's isle the god of gladness sheds his parting smile; o'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, though there his altars are no more divine.
Strana 165 - Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome!
Strana 179 - But first, on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be 'rent : Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race : There, from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life ; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse : Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.