Les dernières années de Lord Byron: Les rives du Lac de Genève, L'Italie, La GrèceM. Lévy frères, 1874 - 269 páginas |
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Página 38 - IT is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard ; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whispered word ; And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue...
Página 61 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.
Página 53 - Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep ; and drawing near, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drtp of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more...
Página 46 - To see her gentle face without a mask, And never gaze on it with apathy. She was my early friend, and now shall be My sister — till I look again on thee.
Página 62 - ... misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Página 62 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Página 45 - Leman's is fair ; but think not I forsake The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: Sad havoc Time must with my memory make Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before; Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Resign'd for ever, or divided far.
Página 216 - Why were ye not awake? But ye were dead To things ye knew not of — were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile : so that ye taught a school Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, Their verses tallied. Easy was the task: A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Of Poesy.
Página 207 - Hayley, who, however feeble, has left one poem ' that will not be willingly let die ' (the Triumphs of Temper), kept up the reputation of that pure and perfect style ; and Crabbe, the first of living poets, has almost equalled the master.
Página 195 - I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour : my name, which had been a knightly or a noble one since my fathers helped to conquer the kingdom for William the Norman, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England ; if false, England was unfit for me.