Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt. Campe's ed |
Fra bogen
Resultater 1-5 af 54
Side 11
... land to dwell , Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell . V. For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run , Nor made atonement when he did amiss , Had sigh'd to many though he loved but one , And that loved one , alas ...
... land to dwell , Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell . V. For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run , Nor made atonement when he did amiss , Had sigh'd to many though he loved but one , And that loved one , alas ...
Side 11
... sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal . XI . His house , his home , his heritage , his lands , The laughing dames in whom he did delight , 1 fair locks , and snowy Whose large blue eyes PILGRIMAGE . 11.
... sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal . XI . His house , his home , his heritage , his lands , The laughing dames in whom he did delight , 1 fair locks , and snowy Whose large blue eyes PILGRIMAGE . 11.
Side 12
... winds sigh , the breakers roar , And shrieks the wild seamew . Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight ; Farewell awhile to him and thee , My native Land - Good Night ! 2 . " A few short hours and He will 12 CHILDE HAROLD'S.
... winds sigh , the breakers roar , And shrieks the wild seamew . Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight ; Farewell awhile to him and thee , My native Land - Good Night ! 2 . " A few short hours and He will 12 CHILDE HAROLD'S.
Side 14
... swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine ; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to , So not again to mine . Welcome , welcome , ye dark - blue waves ! And when you fail my sight , Welcome , ye deserts , and ye caves ! My 14 CHILDE HAROLD'S.
... swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine ; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to , So not again to mine . Welcome , welcome , ye dark - blue waves ! And when you fail my sight , Welcome , ye deserts , and ye caves ! My 14 CHILDE HAROLD'S.
Side 15
... Land - Good Night ! ,, XIV . On , on the vessel flies , the land is gone , And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay . Four days are sped , but with the fifth , anon , New shores descried make every bosom gay ; And Cintra's mountain ...
... Land - Good Night ! ,, XIV . On , on the vessel flies , the land is gone , And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay . Four days are sped , but with the fifth , anon , New shores descried make every bosom gay ; And Cintra's mountain ...
Andre udgaver - Se alle
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, a Romaunt. Campe's Ed George Gordon N Byron (6th Baron ) Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2015 |
Almindelige termer og sætninger
Albania Ali Pacha amongst ancient Arqua Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Canto Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero Constantinople dark death deem'd doth dust earth Egeria fair fame feel foes gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart Heaven hills honour hope immortal Italian Italy lake land line last live Lord mind mortal mountains ne'er never o'er once pass Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Romaic Roman Rome scene seen shore sigh smile song soul spot Stanza Storia Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb triumph tyrants Venetian Venice walls waves wild woes wolf ἂν ἀπὸ δὲ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς εἰς τὴν ἐν ἡμεῖς καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ οἱ σᾶς τὰ τὰς τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν ὡς
Populære passager
Side 165 - 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...
Side 224 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped 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 hailed the wretch who won.
Side 160 - Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Is not the love of these deep in my heart With a pure passion?
Side 163 - Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction : once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have...
Side 225 - 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!
Side 151 - Away with these ! true Wisdom's world will be Within its own creation, or in thine, Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee, Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine ? There Harold gazes on a work divine, A blending of all beauties ; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.
Side 47 - But 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.
Side 145 - And human frailties, were forgotten quite : Could he have kept his spirit to that flight He had been happy ; but this clay will sink Its spark immortal, envying it the light To which it mounts, as if to break the link That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.
Side 194 - gainst the Alpine shocks Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks The howling tempest, till its height and frame Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same.
Side 151 - Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.