The poetical works of lord Byron, with lifeGall & Inglis, 1859 - 576 pages |
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Page iii
... youth in England , and the single decade of his manhood in foreign countries . He died at Missolonghi in Greece on the 19th April 1824 . In this locomotive age , thousands - whose memory survives them no longer than the grief of ...
... youth in England , and the single decade of his manhood in foreign countries . He died at Missolonghi in Greece on the 19th April 1824 . In this locomotive age , thousands - whose memory survives them no longer than the grief of ...
Page vi
... youth , and a happy domestic circle is the sphere most favourable to the development of all that is good in man ; but unsuccessful love is often more lasting than love requited ; and , considering Byron's peculiar temperament , it is ...
... youth , and a happy domestic circle is the sphere most favourable to the development of all that is good in man ; but unsuccessful love is often more lasting than love requited ; and , considering Byron's peculiar temperament , it is ...
Page xiii
... youth and inexperience can no longer be pled in palliation of his excesses . Nevertheless the noble drama of Manfred belongs to this period . At Venice Byron first met with Madame Guiccioli , to be near whom he removed to Ravenna in the ...
... youth and inexperience can no longer be pled in palliation of his excesses . Nevertheless the noble drama of Manfred belongs to this period . At Venice Byron first met with Madame Guiccioli , to be near whom he removed to Ravenna in the ...
Page xvi
... youth , " . Lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of 71 72 75 77 78 79 80 81 Harrow- " Spot of my youth , " 83 Criticism of " Hours of Idleness " in the Edinburgh Review , 84 ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS , Postscript to ...
... youth , " . Lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of 71 72 75 77 78 79 80 81 Harrow- " Spot of my youth , " 83 Criticism of " Hours of Idleness " in the Edinburgh Review , 84 ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS , Postscript to ...
Page 6
... youth and virtue claim a short delay , Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey ; Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight , Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight . If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh The spot where now ...
... youth and virtue claim a short delay , Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey ; Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight , Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight . If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh The spot where now ...
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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.