The Works of Lord Byron: Embracing His Suppressed Poems, and a Sketch of His Life ...Phillips, Sampson,, 1854 - 1071 pages |
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Adah Ali Pacha Anah arms aught bear beauty behold beneath blood bosom breast breath brow Cæs Cain chief Childe Harold dare dark dead death deeds deep Doge dost doth dread earth Faliero fate father fear feel foes Foscari gaze Giaour grave Greece Greek hand hath heard heart heaven hope hour Iden Lara Lara's leave less Lioni lips live look look'd lord Lord Byron Lucifer Marino Faliero Michel Steno mortal Myrrha ne'er never night o'er once palace PANIA Parisina pass'd Petrarch rest Sardanapalus scarce scene seem'd shore Sieg Siegendorf sigh sire slave smile soul spirit Stanza Stral strange tears thee thine things thou art thought turn'd twas Ulric Venice voice walls wave Whate'er wild wind words youth εἰς καὶ τὴν τὸ
Popular passages
Page 63 - His steps are not upon thy paths— thy fields Are not a spoil for him— thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth — there let him lay.
Page 63 - Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war,— These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Page 44 - He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Page 63 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime. The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Page 183 - ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart — The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom— Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
Page 183 - And through the crevice and the cleft Of the thick wall is fallen and left: Creeping o'er the floor so damp, Like a marsh's meteor lamp: And in each pillar there is a ring, And in each ring there is a chain; That iron is a cankering thing! For in these limbs its teeth remain...
Page 41 - And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of gray ; And many a rock which steeply lowers, And noble arch in proud decay, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers...
Page 39 - Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Page 186 - As then to me he seem'd to fly, And then new tears came in my eye, And I felt troubled — and would fain I had not left my recent chain ; And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode Fell on me as a heavy load...
Page 38 - Stop ! — For thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, As the ground was before, thus let it be;— How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory ? XVIII.