The poetical works of lord Byron, with lifeGall & Inglis, 1859 - 576 pages |
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Page 16
... look with such faithful devotion , A smile can enchant , or a tear can dissuade . But as death , my beloved , soon or late shall o'ertake us , And our breasts , which , alive , with such sympathy glow , Will sleep in the grave till the ...
... look with such faithful devotion , A smile can enchant , or a tear can dissuade . But as death , my beloved , soon or late shall o'ertake us , And our breasts , which , alive , with such sympathy glow , Will sleep in the grave till the ...
Page 50
... looks repeat ; Then let me breathe this parting prayer , The dictate of my bosom's care : " May heaven so guard my lovely ... look , As fearful that I might refuse it ; I told him when the gift I took , My only fear should be to lose it ...
... looks repeat ; Then let me breathe this parting prayer , The dictate of my bosom's care : " May heaven so guard my lovely ... look , As fearful that I might refuse it ; I told him when the gift I took , My only fear should be to lose it ...
Page 53
... look I turn'd , But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear . Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more , My Mary to Love once so dear ! † In the shade of her bower I remember the hour She rewarded those vows with a Tear . By ...
... look I turn'd , But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear . Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more , My Mary to Love once so dear ! † In the shade of her bower I remember the hour She rewarded those vows with a Tear . By ...
Page 86
... look at it . " Ah ! gentle . fleeting , wavering sprite Friend and associate of this clay ! To what unknown region borne Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight ? No more with wonted humour gay , But pallid , cheerless , and forlorn ...
... look at it . " Ah ! gentle . fleeting , wavering sprite Friend and associate of this clay ! To what unknown region borne Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight ? No more with wonted humour gay , But pallid , cheerless , and forlorn ...
Page 87
... look the gift - horse in the mouth . * * Byron says , " When I first saw the review of my Hours of Idleness , ' I was furious ; in such a rage as I never have been since . I dined that day with Scroope Davies , and drank three bottles ...
... look the gift - horse in the mouth . * * Byron says , " When I first saw the review of my Hours of Idleness , ' I was furious ; in such a rage as I never have been since . I dined that day with Scroope Davies , and drank three bottles ...
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Common terms and phrases
adieu Albania ANACREON Athens bard beauty behold beneath blest blood bosom breast breath brow Byron Calmar CATULLUS cheek Childe Harold clouds dare dark dead dear death deeds deep dread dream dwell earth Edinburgh Review fair falchion fame fate fear feel fix'd foes forget gaze Giaour glance glory glow grave Greece grief hand hast hate hath heard heart heaven hope hour kiss land Lara's lips live lonely look Lord Lord Byron lyre mingle mortal mountain muse ne'er never Newstead Abbey night numbers o'er once Parisina pass'd passion perchance poem pride Samian wine scarce scene seem'd shine shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh slave sleep smile song soothe soul spirit sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought tomb turn'd twas twill voice wall wave weep wild wind wing words young youth Zuleika
Popular passages
Page 388 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Page 447 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 491 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one ? You have the letters Cadmus gave — Think ye he meant them for a slave ? Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Page 490 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Page 491 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! We will not think of themes like these ! It made Anacreon's song divine: He served — but served Polycrates : A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen.
Page 463 - THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee ; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming, And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep ; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep...
Page 284 - I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise For years — I cannot count them o'er, I lost their long and heavy score When my last brother droop'd and died. And I lay living by his side. They chain'd us each to a column stone, And we were three — yet, each alone : We could not move a single pace, We could not see each other's face. But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight...
Page 397 - The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine...
Page 404 - He is an evening reveller who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still, There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil. Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Page 283 - 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.