Childe Harold's pilgrimage. Illustr. ed |
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... TOMB TASSO'S CELL Photograph Prout . J. W. Whymper 185 J. Cooper 193 Percival Skelton 198 22 J. W. Whymper 206 J. Cooper 209 VENUS 0. Jewitt 215 SANTA CROCE Sir C. Fellows J. Cooper 218 TEMPLE OF CLITUMNUS J. W. Whymper 223 FALLS OF ...
... TOMB TASSO'S CELL Photograph Prout . J. W. Whymper 185 J. Cooper 193 Percival Skelton 198 22 J. W. Whymper 206 J. Cooper 209 VENUS 0. Jewitt 215 SANTA CROCE Sir C. Fellows J. Cooper 218 TEMPLE OF CLITUMNUS J. W. Whymper 223 FALLS OF ...
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... tomb , Had buried long his hopes , no more to rise : Pleasure's pall'd victim ! life - abhorring gloom Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom . LXXXIV . Still he beheld , nor mingled with the throng ; But view'd them not ...
... tomb , Had buried long his hopes , no more to rise : Pleasure's pall'd victim ! life - abhorring gloom Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom . LXXXIV . Still he beheld , nor mingled with the throng ; But view'd them not ...
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... tomb , But cannot hope for rest before . 6 . What Exile from himself can flee ? To zones though more and more remote , Still , still pursues , where'er I be , The blight of life - the demon Thought . 7 . Yet others rapt in pleasure seem ...
... tomb , But cannot hope for rest before . 6 . What Exile from himself can flee ? To zones though more and more remote , Still , still pursues , where'er I be , The blight of life - the demon Thought . 7 . Yet others rapt in pleasure seem ...
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... tomb , But cannot hope for rest before . 6 . What Exile from himself can flee ? To zones though more and more remote , Still , still pursues , where'er I be , The blight of life — the demon Thought . 7 . Yet others rapt in pleasure seem ...
... tomb , But cannot hope for rest before . 6 . What Exile from himself can flee ? To zones though more and more remote , Still , still pursues , where'er I be , The blight of life — the demon Thought . 7 . Yet others rapt in pleasure seem ...
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... tomb ? THERMOPLA LXXIV . Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train , Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? Not thirty tyrants now enforce ...
... tomb ? THERMOPLA LXXIV . Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train , Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? Not thirty tyrants now enforce ...
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Illustr. Ed Lord George Gordon Byron, Lord Sin vista previa disponible - 2015 |
Términos y frases comunes
Albanian Ali Pacha Arqua Athens aught beauty behold beneath blest blood bosom breast breath brow caloyer CANTO charms Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Clarens clime clouds dare dark deem'd deep desolate didst doth dread dust dwell earth earth art Egeria Epirus eternal fair fame fate feel foes gaze Giaour glory glow grave Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills Historical Illustrations honour hope hour hyæna Idlesse immortal Italy lake land less light live lone look Lord Byron mighty mind mortal mountains Nature's ne'er never o'er once pass pass'd passion plain poem Pouqueville proud Rhine roar rock Roman Rome ruin scatter'd scene shore shrine sigh skies slave smile song soul spirit spot star stern stream sweet tears temple thee thine things thou thought throne tomb tower tyrants Venice walls waves wild wind woes youth
Pasajes populares
Página 160 - And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and' far delight,— A portion of the tempest and of thee...
Página 269 - His steps are not upon thy paths— thy fields Are not a spoil for him— thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth — there let him lay.
Página 271 - 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 wantoned 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.
Página 162 - Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me, — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe— into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.
Página 125 - 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; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise...
Página 269 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
Página 249 - 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.
Página 157 - 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.
Página 124 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined: No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet, To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
Página 195 - The moon is up, and yet it is not night; Sunset divides the sky with her; a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be, — Melted to one vast Iris of the West, — Where the Day joins the past Eternity, While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest!