A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations — all were his! The Works of Lord Byron - Side 556af George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1901Fuld visning - Om denne bog
| 1871 - 476 sider
...them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they? And where are they? and where art thou My country ? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something, in the dearth... | |
| 1842 - 52 sider
...liberty and her bravery departed; and where now is the lovely isle ? Let the muse of Byron answer : -" On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more." She has passed away; " Fuit Ilium" is engraven indelibly on her time-honored barracks of rock. In lika... | |
| 1993 - 412 sider
...them at break of day @ And when the sun set, where were they? And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now @ The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? Tis something in the dearth of... | |
| George Gordon Byron - 1994 - 884 sider
...break of day — And when the sun set where were they f 5. And where are they ? and where art thon, en 1 *"Л must thy lyre, so long divine. Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd... | |
| George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1996 - 868 sider
...the sun set where were they? 3 630 THE ISLES OF GREECE 5 25 And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, 30 Degenerate into hands like mine? 'Tis something, in the dearth... | |
| Jerome McGann - 2002 - 332 sider
...drama of his own mind. Consider the ballad's f1fth stanza. And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay...is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine. Degenerate into hands like mine? An act of poetic ventriloquism... | |
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