Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A RomauntJ. Murray, 1853 - 311 páginas |
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... ni les frais ni les fatigues . - LE COSMOPOLITE . [ Par M. de Montbron , Paris , 1798. Lord Byron elsewhere calls it " an amusing little volume , full of French flippancy . " ] PREFACE TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS . I THE.
... ni les frais ni les fatigues . - LE COSMOPOLITE . [ Par M. de Montbron , Paris , 1798. Lord Byron elsewhere calls it " an amusing little volume , full of French flippancy . " ] PREFACE TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS . I THE.
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... ni les frais ni les fatigues . - LE COSMOPOLITE . [ Par M. de Montbron , Paris , 1798. Lord Byron elsewhere calls it " an amusing little volume , full of French flippancy . " ] PREFACE TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS . THE following.
... ni les frais ni les fatigues . - LE COSMOPOLITE . [ Par M. de Montbron , Paris , 1798. Lord Byron elsewhere calls it " an amusing little volume , full of French flippancy . " ] PREFACE TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS . THE following.
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... French foeman ? Or shiver at the gale ? " — " Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? Sir Childe , I'm not so weak ; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek . 7 . " My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall , Along the ...
... French foeman ? Or shiver at the gale ? " — " Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? Sir Childe , I'm not so weak ; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek . 7 . " My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall , Along the ...
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... French Lisbonne , and our Lisbon , -God knows which the earlier corruption ! " - Byron , MS . ] 20. Stanza xvi . , line 3 . Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold , [ " Which poets , prone to lie , have paved with gold . " — MS ...
... French Lisbonne , and our Lisbon , -God knows which the earlier corruption ! " - Byron , MS . ] 20. Stanza xvi . , line 3 . Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold , [ " Which poets , prone to lie , have paved with gold . " — MS ...
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... French called it theirs ( to my great discomfiture , -for a French consul stopped my mouth in Greece with a pestilent Paris gazette , just as I had killed Sebastiani ' in buckram , ' and King Joseph ' in Kendal green ' ) , — and we have ...
... French called it theirs ( to my great discomfiture , -for a French consul stopped my mouth in Greece with a pestilent Paris gazette , just as I had killed Sebastiani ' in buckram , ' and King Joseph ' in Kendal green ' ) , — and we have ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
Albanians Ali Pacha amidst amongst ancient Ariosto Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cadiz Cæsar called CANTO charms Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero Classical Tour dark death deem'd deep doth dust earth Egeria fair fall fame feel Florence foes French gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope hour immortal Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake land line 9 live Lord Byron maid mind mortal mountains ne'er never o'er once palace pass passion Petrarch plain poem poet Pouqueville rock Roman Rome round ruins Sanguinetto says scene seems seen shine shore sigh slave smile song soul Spain spirit spot Stanza Storia Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb traveller triumph Venetians Venice walls waves wild woes words youth
Pasajes populares
Página 224 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests: in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime; The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible: even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Página 143 - 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 166 - Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, Albion ! to thee : the Ocean queen should not Abandon Ocean's children ; in the fall Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. I loved her from my boyhood — she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart...
Página 110 - Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine : Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong...
Página 136 - The life she lived in; but the judge was just, And then she died on him she could not save. Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one dust.
Página 194 - The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago ; The Scipios...
Página 223 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Página 125 - 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.
Página 192 - 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...
Página 137 - When elements to elements conform, And dust is as it should be, shall I not Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm? The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot? Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot?