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Albanian Ali Pacha Athens beauty behold beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow CANTO Childe Harold Christian Cicero dark dead death deep doom earth Egeria fair fame fate feel Ficus Ruminalis foes gaze Giaour glory grave Greece Greek hand hath heard heart heaven hills honour hope hour Italian Italy Julius Cæsar land less light live maid mind mortal mountains ne'er never night Note o'er once Parisina pass pass'd Petrarch Pouqueville rock Romaic Roman Rome round scarce scene seem'd seen shine shore sigh smile song soul spirit Stanza steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tomb Venetians Venice voice walls wave wild wind young ἀπὸ δὲν διὰ εἶναι εἰς καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ σᾶς τὰ τὴν τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν
第 103 頁 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips — »The foe! They come! they come!« And wild and high the 'Cameron's gathering...
第 181 頁 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed...
第 461 頁 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
第 474 頁 - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! FROM JOH.
第 97 頁 - Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on ; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
第 182 頁 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
第 356 頁 - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom— Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar; for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! — May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
第 141 頁 - But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound...