Childe Harold: Canto the Fourth, The Prisoner of Chillon and MazepaHoughton Mifflin Company, 1909 - 136 pages |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 18
Page 6
... thine , Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot , Thy choral memory of the Bard divine , Thy love of Tasso , should have cut the knot Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot Is shameful to the nations , most of all , Albion , to ...
... thine , Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot , Thy choral memory of the Bard divine , Thy love of Tasso , should have cut the knot Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot Is shameful to the nations , most of all , Albion , to ...
Page 13
... thine Would rot in its oblivion - in the sink Of worthless dust which from thy boasted line Is shaken into nothing but the link - Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think Of thy poor malice , naming thee with scorn . Alfonso ! how thy ...
... thine Would rot in its oblivion - in the sink Of worthless dust which from thy boasted line Is shaken into nothing but the link - Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think Of thy poor malice , naming thee with scorn . Alfonso ! how thy ...
Page 14
... thine ? Though all in one Condensed their scatter'd rays , they would not form a sun . XL . Great as thou art , yet parallel'd by those , Thy countrymen , before thee born to shine , The Bards of Hell and Chivalry first rose The Tuscan ...
... thine ? Though all in one Condensed their scatter'd rays , they would not form a sun . XL . Great as thou art , yet parallel'd by those , Thy countrymen , before thee born to shine , The Bards of Hell and Chivalry first rose The Tuscan ...
Page 19
... thine imperial garment , shall deny , And hath denied , to every other sky Spirits which soar from ruin : - thy decay Is still impregnate with divinity , Which gilds it with revivifying ray ; 405 Such as the great of yore , Canova is to ...
... thine imperial garment , shall deny , And hath denied , to every other sky Spirits which soar from ruin : - thy decay Is still impregnate with divinity , Which gilds it with revivifying ray ; 405 Such as the great of yore , Canova is to ...
Page 20
... thine own . LVIII . Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeath'd His dust ; and lies it not her Great among , With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ? That music in itself , whose sounds ...
... thine own . LVIII . Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeath'd His dust ; and lies it not her Great among , With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ? That music in itself , whose sounds ...
Other editions - View all
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!