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The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, with Illustr. by K. Halswelle
George Gordon N. Byron
No preview available - 2018
Adah Aholibamah Anah art thou aught bard beauty behold beneath blood bosom breast breath brow Cain Calmar cheek Childe Harold clouds dare dark dead dear death deeds deep dost doth dread dream dust dwell earth eternal fair fame fate fear feel fix'd foes forget gaze Giaour glory grave Greece grief hand hate hath heard heart heaven hope hour immortal Irad Japh less light lips live lonely look Lord Lord Byron Lucifer lyre mind mortal mountains ne'er never night o'er once Parisina pass'd perchance round Saint Peter Samian wine scarce scene seem'd seraphs shine shore sigh sire slave sleep smile song soothe sorrow soul spirit star sweet tears thee thine things thou art thou hast thought throne turn'd twas twill voice wave weep wild wind wing words youth Zillah Zuleika
Page 221 - There were giants in the earth in those days ; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.
Page 575 - Tis to create, and in creating live A being more intense, that we endow With form our fancy, gaining as we give The life we image, even as I do now. What am I ? Nothing : but not so art thou, Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth, Invisible but gazing, as I glow Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings
Page 454 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 311 - And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride ; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail : And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Page 651 - 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. The...
Page 174 - 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.
Page 653 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks— They have a king who buys and sells; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells: But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Our virgins dance beneath the shade — I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
Page 223 - The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man ; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.
Page 76 - Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Attest it many a deathless age ! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land...