The Complete Poetical Works of Lord ByronHoughton, Mifflin, 1905 - 1055 pages |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 100
Page 2
... hath there been matchless deem'd ; Not in those visions to the heart display- ing Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd , Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd . ~ CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
... hath there been matchless deem'd ; Not in those visions to the heart display- ing Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd , Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd . ~ CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
Page 8
... hath built A dome , where flaunts she in such glori- ous sheen , 340 That men forget the blood which she hath spilt , And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt . XXX O'er vales that teem with fruits , romantic hills ( Oh ...
... hath built A dome , where flaunts she in such glori- ous sheen , 340 That men forget the blood which she hath spilt , And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt . XXX O'er vales that teem with fruits , romantic hills ( Oh ...
Page 23
... hath but little left him to destroy ! Ah , happy years ! once more who would not be a boy ? XXIV Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side , To gaze on Dian's wave - reflected sphere , The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride ...
... hath but little left him to destroy ! Ah , happy years ! once more who would not be a boy ? XXIV Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side , To gaze on Dian's wave - reflected sphere , The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride ...
Page 41
... hath brook'd the turn- ing tide With that untaught innate philosophy , Which , be it wisdom , coldness , or deep pride , Is gall and wormwood to an enemy . When the whole host of hatred stood hard by , To watch and mock thee shrinking ...
... hath brook'd the turn- ing tide With that untaught innate philosophy , Which , be it wisdom , coldness , or deep pride , Is gall and wormwood to an enemy . When the whole host of hatred stood hard by , To watch and mock thee shrinking ...
Page 43
... Hath wean'd it from all wordlings : thus he felt , For there was soft remembrance , and sweet trust In one fond breast to which his own would melt , And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt . LIV And he had learn'd to love ( I ...
... Hath wean'd it from all wordlings : thus he felt , For there was soft remembrance , and sweet trust In one fond breast to which his own would melt , And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt . LIV And he had learn'd to love ( I ...
Contents
1 | |
83 | |
89 | |
95 | |
101 | |
111 | |
114 | |
117 | |
194 | |
200 | |
220 | |
233 | |
436 | |
477 | |
497 | |
550 | |
636 | |
671 | |
722 | |
744 | |
1047 | |
1050 | |
1051 | |
1052 | |
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
Adah Anah art thou aught bear beauty behold beneath blood bosom breast breath brow Byron Cæs Cain Childe Harold dare dark dead dear death deeds deep Doge dost dread dream earth eternal fair fame fate father fear feel gaze Giaour glory grave Greece hand hath hear heart heaven honour hope hour Iden Juan king Lady less Lioni live look look'd lord Lucifer Marino Faliero Michel Steno Morgante mortal Myrrha ne'er never night o'er once PANIA pass'd passion poem SARDANAPALUS satraps scarce scene seem'd shore Sieg Siegendorf sigh sire slave sleep smile song soul spirit Stral strange sweet sword tears thee thine things Thomas Moore thou art thou hast thought turn'd Venice voice wave weep words youth
Popular passages
Page 79 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, •To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean— roll!
Page 74 - He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away. He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian Mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — All this rush'd with his blood. — Shall he expire And unavenged ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire...
Page 80 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: — not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Page 80 - 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 39 - The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard too have her Saxon foes: — How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills...
Page 398 - 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...
Page 400 - I took that hand which lay so still, Alas ! my own was full as chill ; I had not strength to stir, or strive, But felt that I was still alive — A frantic feeling, when we know That what we love shall ne'er be so.
Page 66 - Oh, Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye! Whose agonies are evils of a day— A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.
Page 55 - Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was;— her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
Page 41 - But Quiet to quick bosoms is a Hell, And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire And motion of the Soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.