The Works of George Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Volumen 4

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Página 20 - Thou material God ! And representative of the Unknown — Who chose thee for his shadow ! Thou chief star '. Centre of many stars ! which mak'st our earth Endurable, and temperest the hues And hearts of all who walk within thy rays ! Sire of the seasons ! Monarch of the climes, And those who dwell in them ! for, near or far, Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, Even as our outward aspects ; — thou dost rise, And shine, and set in glory.
Página 272 - But let me scrape the dirt away, That hangs upon your face; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case." Said John, "It is my wedding-day, And all the world would stare If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware.
Página 194 - Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast — but place to die — Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
Página 206 - I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Página 255 - Twas twilight, for the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters ; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown, And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale, And the dim desolate deep : twelve days had Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was here.
Página 173 - I greatly fear that the Guiccioli is going into a consumption, to which her constitution tends. Thus it is with every thing and every body for whom I feel any thing like a real attachment; — "War, death, or discord,
Página 45 - Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate ; And whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate.
Página 320 - His Faust I never read, for I don't know German ; but Matthew Monk Lewis, in 1816, at Coligny, translated most of it to me viva voce, and I was naturally much struck with it ; but it was the Steinbach and the Jungfrau, and something else, much more than Faustus, that made me write Manfred. The first scene, however, and that of Faustus, are very similar.
Página 163 - Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Página 253 - I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me. I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war...

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