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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Cantos 1 and 2, With Other Poems. Wanting Pp
George Gordon N Byron (6th Baron )
Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2019
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage [Cantos 1 and 2, with Other Poems. Wanting Pp
George Gordon N Byron (6th Baron )
Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2015
amongst ancient Athens bear beautiful behold beneath better blood bosom breast Castri charms Childe dark dear Death doubt dread dream dwell earth fair fall feel French gaze give Greece Greeks ground hand Harold hast hath hear heard heart honour hope hour Hymettus land late less live lonely look Lord lost maid mountains native never night o'er observation once pass past plain present remains rest rise rock Romaic scene seen shore sigh smile song sons soul speak Stanza sweet tear tell thee thine thing thou thou art thought thousand translation traveller true Turkish Turks turn vain walls wave wild written young youth δεν εις και με να τας την το
Seite 109 - Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow? By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? no!
Seite 16 - Adieu, adieu ! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue ; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight: Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native Land— Good Night!
Seite 113 - Athens' children are with hearts endued, When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, Then may'st thou be restored ; but not till then. A thousand years scarce serve to form a state ; An hour may lay it in the dust : and when Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate?
Seite 80 - midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!
Seite 68 - Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where, Where are thy men of might, thy grand in soul? Gone, — glimmering through the dream of things that were : First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and passed away, — is this the whole?
Seite 116 - The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow; The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear; Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below; Death in the front, Destruction in the rear! Such was the scene— what now remaineth here? What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear?
Seite 70 - Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The Dome of Thought, the Palace of the Soul...
Seite 235 - As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed, To gaze — how fondly ! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head ; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Seite 79 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.