Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntG.S. Appleton, 1851 - 287 páginas |
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Página 145
... the Ottomite ; Witness Troy's rival , Candia ! Vouch it , ye Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight ! For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight . N XV . Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the CANTO IV . 145 PILGRIMAGE .
... the Ottomite ; Witness Troy's rival , Candia ! Vouch it , ye Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight ! For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight . N XV . Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the CANTO IV . 145 PILGRIMAGE .
Página 146
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. XV . Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the long file Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; But where they dwelt , the vast and sumptuous pile Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ...
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. XV . Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the long file Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; But where they dwelt , the vast and sumptuous pile Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ...
Página 158
... statue's form , and look like gods below . LIII . I leave to learned fingers , and wise hands , The artist and his ape , to teach and tell How well his connoisseurship understands The graceful bend , and the voluptuous swell : Let these ...
... statue's form , and look like gods below . LIII . I leave to learned fingers , and wise hands , The artist and his ape , to teach and tell How well his connoisseurship understands The graceful bend , and the voluptuous swell : Let these ...
Página 169
... Our souls to compass through each arduous way , Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb ? Were they but so in man's , how different were his doom ! P LXXXVII . And thou , dread statue ! yet existent CANTO IV . 169 PILGRIMAGE .
... Our souls to compass through each arduous way , Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb ? Were they but so in man's , how different were his doom ! P LXXXVII . And thou , dread statue ! yet existent CANTO IV . 169 PILGRIMAGE .
Página 170
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. LXXXVII . And thou , dread statue ! yet existent in The austerest form of naked majesty , Thou who beheldest , ' mid the assassins ' din , At thy bathed base the bloody Cæsar lie , Folding his ...
A Romaunt George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. LXXXVII . And thou , dread statue ! yet existent in The austerest form of naked majesty , Thou who beheldest , ' mid the assassins ' din , At thy bathed base the bloody Cæsar lie , Folding his ...
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Términos y frases comunes
Albania Ali Pacha amidst amongst ancient Ariosto Arqua Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cæsar CANTO Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Chioza church Cicero Comitium dark death deem'd deep doth dust dwell earth edit Egeria fair fall fame fate feel Ficus Ruminalis gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope hour immortal Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake land less light live Lord mind mortal mountains Nardini ne'er never o'er once pass pass'd passion Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Roman Rome ruin scatter'd scene seems seen shore sigh smile song soul spirit spot STANZA Storia stream Suetonius Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought throne tomb triumph Turks tyrants valley Venetians Venice walls waves winds woes wolf words youth καὶ
Pasajes populares
Página 121 - 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 ! How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Página 120 - All heaven and earth are still— though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep...
Página 119 - Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
Página 198 - Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted — Can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.
Página 122 - 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 91 - Welcome to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead !' Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on : for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Página 100 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent!
Página 179 - Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, And fevers into false creation : — where, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? In him alone. Can Nature show so fair...
Página 162 - The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, LXX.
Página 184 - But I have lived, and have not lived in vain ; My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire; And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire...