Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries: With Recollections of the Author's Life, and of His Visit to Italy, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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H. Colburn, 1828 - Authors - 513 pages
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Page 429 - While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd, With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon, Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez, and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.
Page 435 - Ode to a Nightingale MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness, That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Page 364 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...
Page 428 - Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device...
Page 364 - The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown : I sit upon the sands alone, The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion. III. Alas ! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around...
Page 340 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
Page 434 - Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone...
Page 435 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene...
Page 419 - Knowing within myself (he says) the manner in which this Poem has been produced, it is not without a feeling of regret that I make it public. What manner I mean, will be quite clear to the reader, who must soon perceive great inexperience, immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish attempt, rather than a deed accomplished.' Preface, p.
Page 437 - Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! J Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

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