Childe Harold: Canto the Fourth, The Prisoner of Chillon and MazepaHoughton Mifflin Company, 1909 - 136 pages |
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Page 9
... leaves behind , Which out of things familiar , undesign'd , When least we deem of such , calls up to view The spectres whom no exorcism can bind , 215 The cold — the changed - perchance the dead — anew , The mourn'd , the loved , the ...
... leaves behind , Which out of things familiar , undesign'd , When least we deem of such , calls up to view The spectres whom no exorcism can bind , 215 The cold — the changed - perchance the dead — anew , The mourn'd , the loved , the ...
Page 12
... leaves , and flowers , And shining in the brawling brook , where - by , Clear as its current , glide the sauntering hours With a calm languor , which , though to the eye Idlesse it seem , hath its morality . If from society we learn to ...
... leaves , and flowers , And shining in the brawling brook , where - by , Clear as its current , glide the sauntering hours With a calm languor , which , though to the eye Idlesse it seem , hath its morality . If from society we learn to ...
Page 14
... . The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves ; Nor was the ominous element unjust , For the true laurel - wreath which Glory weaves 365 Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves 14 BYRON.
... . The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves ; Nor was the ominous element unjust , For the true laurel - wreath which Glory weaves 365 Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves 14 BYRON.
Page 33
... leaves of the same tree . 850 XCV . I speak not of men's creeds - they rest between Man and his Maker - but of things allow'd , Averr'd , and known and daily , hourly seen The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd And the intent of tyranny ...
... leaves of the same tree . 850 XCV . I speak not of men's creeds - they rest between Man and his Maker - but of things allow'd , Averr'd , and known and daily , hourly seen The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd And the intent of tyranny ...
Page 34
... leaves behind : Thy tree hath lost its blossoms , and the rind , Chopp'd by the axe , looks rough and little worth , But the sap lasts , and still the seed we find Sown deep , even in the bosom of the North ; So shall a better spring ...
... leaves behind : Thy tree hath lost its blossoms , and the rind , Chopp'd by the axe , looks rough and little worth , But the sap lasts , and still the seed we find Sown deep , even in the bosom of the North ; So shall a better spring ...
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Common terms and phrases
15 cents Apollo Belvedere Arqua ashes Bards Battle of Pultowa beauty beneath Biographical Sketch blood breast breath brow Byron Cæsar cantos castle castle of Chillon chain Childe Harold Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Coliseum Cossacks Crown 8vo Dante dark dead death deep doth dread dungeon dust E. H. Coleridge earth effect English eternal eyes feel Florence foes gaze GEORGE HERBERT PALMER glory gray hath heart heaven Hetman Hobhouse hope hour hyæna immortal Italy Julius Cæsar King lake light limbs linen Literature Lord LORD BYRON Mazeppa mighty mind monarch mother mountains Napoleon night Note o'er ocean Petrarch poem poet Prisoner of Chillon Riverside Shakespeare Roman Rome round ruin seem'd seen shine shore soul spirit Stanza star steed Tasso tears thee thine thou thought tomb tree Ukraine Venice wall waters waves wild wind woes youth
Popular passages
Page 63 - 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.
Page 63 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since: their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts; — not so thou. Unchangeable save to thy wild waves
Page 74 - But knowing well captivity, Sweet bird, I could not wish for thine! Or if it were, in winged guise, A visitant from Paradise; For — Heaven forgive that thought! the while...
Page 64 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Page 62 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Page 49 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low : And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Page 49 - Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He reck'd 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, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Page 28 - But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections: now we clap Our hands, and cry, " Eureka ! it is clear — " When but some false mirage of ruin rises near.
Page 74 - Ran over with the glad surprise, And they that moment could not see I was the mate of misery: But then by dull degrees came back My senses to their wonted track, I saw the dungeon walls and floor Close slowly round me as before...
Page 2 - In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!