The works of ... lord Byron

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Page 9 - O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea, " Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, " Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, " Survey our empire and behold our home ! " These are our realms, no limits to their sway — 5 " Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Page 81 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!
Page 20 - Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue ; Still sways their souls with that commanding art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar hearL What is that spell, that thus his lawless train Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain?
Page 118 - Oh ! o'er the eye death most exerts his might, And hurls the spirit from her throne of light ! Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse, But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips...
Page 138 - A high demeanour, and a glance that took Their thoughts from others by a single look ; And that sarcastic levity of tongue, The stinging of a heart the world hath stung...
Page 179 - Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world. Man has another day to swell the past, And lead him near to little, but his last ; But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth, The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth ; Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam, Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream. Immortal man ! behold her glories shine, And cry, exulting inly,
Page 154 - A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped By choice the perils he by chance escaped; But 'scaped in vain, for in...
Page 22 - There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled, and Mercy sigh'd farewell!
Page 10 - Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play, That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
Page 134 - Left by his sire, too young such loss to know, Lord of himself; - that heritage of woe, That fearful empire which the human breast But holds to rob the heart within of rest!

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