Childe Harold's pilgrimage, The giaour, The siege of Corinth [and other poems].
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, the Giaour, the Siege of Corinth [And Other Poems]
George Gordon N Byron
No preview available - 2016
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appear arms bear beauty beneath better blood breast breath brow called chief Childe Christian dark dead death deep died earth face fair fall fame fear feel fell fire foes gaze give grave Greek half hand hath head heard heart heaven hills hope hour Italy land late least leaves less light live look lost mind mountains nature never night Note o'er once Page pain pass past present rest rise rock Roman round scarce scene seems seen shore side sight smile song soul sound spirit stand Stanza stood tears tell thee thine things thou thought thousand tomb true turn voice walls waters wave wild wind young
Page 470 - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! A SPIRIT PASS'D BEFORE ME.
Page 469 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Page 119 - Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Page 102 - Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay ; The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms — the day Battle's magnificently stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent...
Page 153 - 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. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her...
Page 100 - As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm! Arm! it is! — it is! — the cannon's opening roar!
Page 100 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd 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 225 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, The first, last look by death reveal'd...
Page 178 - Oh! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair Spirit for my minister, That I might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her ! Ye elements ! — in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted — can ye not Accord me such a being?
Page 106 - Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.