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The Works of the Right Honourable Lord Byron: The Corsair. Lara
George Gordon Byron Baron Byron
No preview available - 2020
arms band bear beauty beneath blood bloom break breast breath brow called cheek close dare dark dead death deed deem deep doom dread earth face fall fate fear feel felt fire flower foes friends gaze Giaffir Giaour glance grave Greek hand Hassan hate hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour land least leave less light live lonely look marked meet mind Mussulman ne'er never night Note o'er once pain pale pass Persian rest rose round scarce seemed seen Selim share shine shore slave smile soul sound spirit steed steps stream strife tale tear tell thee thine thou thought tomb true turban Turkish turn Twas voice watched waters wave winds wish wound young Zuleika
Page 9 - 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 ! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendour to disgrace...
Page 7 - Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom, That hue which haunts it to the tomb — Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of feeling past away ! Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth.
Page 9 - 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, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame : For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft is ever won.
Page 107 - 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?
Page 73 - I grieve ; but not, my holy guide ! For him who dies, but her who died . She sleeps beneath the wandering wave— Ah .' had she but an earthly grave, • ╗ This breaking heart and throbbing head Should seek and share her narrow bed. She was a form of life and light, That, seen, became a part of sight...
Page 5 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...
Page 6 - 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 sealed, The first, last look by death revealed ! Such is the aspect of this shore ; Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
Page 71 - The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name ; But mine was like the lava flood That boils in ^Etna's breast of flame...