Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntMacmillan, 1899 - 282 страници |
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Страница xiii
... mother and child and fled to Valenciennes , where he died in 1791 . If Byron had had a mother such as that of Wordsworth or Tennyson , he would have received kind and wise guidance . But , alas ! the mother's milk was mingled with gall ...
... mother and child and fled to Valenciennes , where he died in 1791 . If Byron had had a mother such as that of Wordsworth or Tennyson , he would have received kind and wise guidance . But , alas ! the mother's milk was mingled with gall ...
Страница 6
... mother ° - not forgot , - Though parting from that mother he did shun ; A sister whom he loved , but saw her not Before his weary pilgrimage begun : If friends he had , he bade adieu to none . Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of ...
... mother ° - not forgot , - Though parting from that mother he did shun ; A sister whom he loved , but saw her not Before his weary pilgrimage begun : If friends he had , he bade adieu to none . Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of ...
Страница 8
... mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; My dog howls at the gate . O III Come hither , hither , my little page 1 ° Why dost thou weep and wail ? 130 135 Or dost thou ...
... mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; My dog howls at the gate . O III Come hither , hither , my little page 1 ° Why dost thou weep and wail ? 130 135 Or dost thou ...
Страница 9
... mother sigh Till I come back again . ' - ' Enough , enough , my little lad ! Such tears become thine eye ; If I thy guileless bosom had , Mine own would not be dry . VI ' Come hither , hither , my staunch yeoman , ° Why dost thou look ...
... mother sigh Till I come back again . ' - ' Enough , enough , my little lad ! Such tears become thine eye ; If I thy guileless bosom had , Mine own would not be dry . VI ' Come hither , hither , my staunch yeoman , ° Why dost thou look ...
Страница 44
... mother's pains , And never knew , till then , the weight of Despot's chains . 100 105 XIII O What ! shall it e'er be said by British tongue , Albion was happy in Athena's tears ? Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung , Tell not ...
... mother's pains , And never knew , till then , the weight of Despot's chains . 100 105 XIII O What ! shall it e'er be said by British tongue , Albion was happy in Athena's tears ? Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung , Tell not ...
Често срещани думи и фрази
Acarnania ancient Arqua Athens bard beauty behold beneath blood blue bosom breast breath brow Byron says Canto Charles Kingsley Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE clime dark dead death deemed deep doth dream dust earth EDWARD DOWDEN England English fair fame fate feel foes gaze Giaour glorious glory glow Greece hand hath heart heaven hills hope hour hyæna immortal Italy John Morley lake land live lone look Lord mighty Milton mind mingling mortal mother mountains Napoleon Nature ne'er never Newstead Newstead Abbey night o'er once passion Petrarch Pindus poem poet poetry proud rock RODEN NOEL Rome ruin scene Shelley shore shrine sigh smile song soul Spain spirit stanza star sweet tears temple Tennyson thee thine things thou thought throne tomb Venice walls waves wild wind Wordsworth wrote youth
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Страница 267 - Out from the heart of nature rolled The burdens of the Bible old; The litanies of nations came, Like the volcano's tongue of flame, Up from the burning core below, — The canticles of love and woe...
Страница vi - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar - for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! - May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
Страница 177 - Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, the throne Of the invisible,— even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Страница 83 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips - 'The foe! they come! they come!' And wild and high the 'Cameron's gathering
Страница 176 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war, — These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Страница 163 - He heard it, but he heeded not, — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away. He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday!
Страница 116 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand...
Страница 82 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark!
Страница 187 - O'er other creatures : yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best...
Страница 269 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.