Don Juan, Cantos III, IV, and V

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Thomas Davison, 1821 - English poetry - 218 pages
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Page 47 - The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse: Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires
Page 218 - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Page 62 - Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay.
Page 49 - Tis but the living who are dumb. In vain — in vain: strike other chords; Fill high the cup with Samian wine! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble call — How answers each bold Bacchanal I You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet; Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one...
Page 52 - But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Page 46 - The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! "Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Page 74 - ... strange design Against the creed and morals of the land, And trace it in this poem every line: I don't pretend that I quite understand My own meaning when I would be very fine; But the fact is that I have nothing plann'd, Unless it were to be a moment merry, A novel word in my vocabulary.
Page 73 - And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep ; and if I weep, Tis that our nature cannot always bring Itself to apathy...
Page 60 - tis the hour of prayer ! Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! Ave Maria ! oh, that face so fair ! Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty Dove — What though 'tis but a pictured image strike — That painting is no idol, 'tis too like.
Page 61 - Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude Of the pine forest, and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood...

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