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Aberdeen alte Annahme April Ausdruck Bankes beide bekanntlich Bemerkung besten Besuch Beweis Beziehungen blieb Brief Butler Byron's Childish Recollections Clare dear Delawarr dicht Dorset drei Drury Drury's Einfluss einmal Elze Ende England englischen Erinnerung erschien erst erwähnt Fall Februar ferner finden Freunde freundlich Freundschaft friend früheren fügt Gedanken Gedicht geschrieben ging Gordon grossen gute Hanson Harness Harrow have Herzog höheren hören Hours of Idleness Hunt Jahre Januar Jeffreason John Juli jungen Kameraden Klasse Knaben konnte Leben Lehrer lesen Letters letzten lich Liebe Life London Long Lord Byron machte Medwin Moore Murray Mutter name never Newstead November Peel persönliche Poems Reise sagt School schreibt schrieb Byron Schule Schulfreunde Schulkameraden Schulzeit Sohn später sprach spricht stand Stelle Strophe Tage time Vater Verse viel Vielleicht wahrscheinlich Wappen warmen weiter wenig wieder Wingfield wirklich wollte Worte years Zeilen zurück zwei zweiten
Страница 92 - Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story ; The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
Страница 92 - ... This meeting annihilated for a moment all the years between the present time and the days of Harrow. It was a new and inexplicable feeling, like rising from the grave, to me. Clare too was much agitated — more in appearance than was myself; for I could feel his heart beat to his fingers' ends, unless, indeed, it was the pulse of my own which made me think so.
Страница 87 - When least we deem of such, calls up to view The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, The cold — the changed — perchance the dead — anew, * . The mourn'd, the loved, the lost— too many!— yet how few!
Страница 83 - THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay ; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
Страница 84 - Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath. Oh could I feel as I have felt, — or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene; As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.
Страница 84 - Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others...
Страница 85 - I know not what hath sear'd mine eye: The tears refuse to start; But every drop its lids deny Falls dreary on my heart. Yes — deep and heavy, one by one, They sink, and turn to care; As cavern'd waters wear the stone, Yet, dropping, harden there.
Страница 94 - I feel any thing that deserves the name. All my others are men-of-the-world friendships. I did not even feel it for Shelley, however much I admired and esteemed him, so that you see not even vanity could bribe me into it, for, of all men, Shelley thought highest of my...
Страница 93 - There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.
Страница 49 - As fills a father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness. Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity.