The Works of Lord Byron: Childe Harold's pilgrimageJohn Murray, 1821 |
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Seite 10
... heaven which woos us to its brink . XV . But in Man's dwellings he became a thing Restless and worn , and stern and wearisome , Droop'd as a wild - born falcon with clipt wing , To whom the boundless air alone were home : Then came his ...
... heaven which woos us to its brink . XV . But in Man's dwellings he became a thing Restless and worn , and stern and wearisome , Droop'd as a wild - born falcon with clipt wing , To whom the boundless air alone were home : Then came his ...
Seite 28
... Heaven ; and to seem such to me Even now what wants thy stream ? -that it should Lethe be . LI . A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks , But these and half their fame have pass'd away , And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ...
... Heaven ; and to seem such to me Even now what wants thy stream ? -that it should Lethe be . LI . A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks , But these and half their fame have pass'd away , And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ...
Seite 36
... Heaven , yet leave vain man below , LXIII . But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan , There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain , - Morat ! the proud , the patriot field ! where man May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain ...
... Heaven , yet leave vain man below , LXIII . But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan , There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain , - Morat ! the proud , the patriot field ! where man May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain ...
Seite 38
... Heaven ; her heart , beneath a claim Nearest to Heaven's , broke o'er a father's grave . Justice is sworn ' gainst tears , and hers would crave The life she lived in ; but the judge was just , And then she died on him she could not save ...
... Heaven ; her heart , beneath a claim Nearest to Heaven's , broke o'er a father's grave . Justice is sworn ' gainst tears , and hers would crave The life she lived in ; but the judge was just , And then she died on him she could not save ...
Seite 49
... heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires , - ' tis to be forgiven , That in our ... heaven and earth are still - though not in sleep , But breathless , as we grow when feeling most ; And silent , as we ...
... heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires , - ' tis to be forgiven , That in our ... heaven and earth are still - though not in sleep , But breathless , as we grow when feeling most ; And silent , as we ...
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amidst amongst ancient Ariosto beauty beneath blood Boccaccio breast breath brow Cæsar called Canto Certaldo Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Chioza church Cicero Classical Tour clouds Comitium dead death Decameron deep divine Doge dust earth edit Egeria Emperor empire eyes fall fame feeling Ficus Ruminalis Flaminius Florence Florentine foes gaze Genoese glory gondoliers Harold hath heart heaven hills Hist honour hyæna immortal inscription Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake light live Livy memory mind mortal mountains Muses Nardini nymph o'er Padua pass passion Petrarch poet quæ Roman Rome round ruin scene seems seen shore soul spirit spot stand Stanza star statue Storia delle arti Suetonius Tasso tears temple temple of Romulus thee thine things thou thought throne tomb tree triumphs valley Venetians Venice voice walls waves wind Winkelmann woes wolf words writer καὶ
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 179 - 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.
Seite 87 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Seite 14 - 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...
Seite 15 - 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 Blushed 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...
Seite 17 - 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...
Seite 31 - 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, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strew'da scene, •which I should see With double joy wert thou with me.
Seite 157 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony ; And his droop'd 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 hail'd the wretch who won.
Seite 157 - Were with his heart, and that was far away; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother— he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday— All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Seite 41 - I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me, High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture...
Seite 62 - I have not loved the world, nor the world me, But let us part fair foes; I do believe, Though I have found them not, that there may be Words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, And virtues which are merciful, nor weave Snares for the failing; I would also deem O'er others...