The Works of George Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Volume 10 |
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Page 6
... minds of men Breaks never to unite again , That led them to adore Those Pagod things of sabre sway , With fronts of brass , and feet of clay . after all , a crown may not be worth dying for . Yet , to outlive Lodi for this !!! Oh that ...
... minds of men Breaks never to unite again , That led them to adore Those Pagod things of sabre sway , With fronts of brass , and feet of clay . after all , a crown may not be worth dying for . Yet , to outlive Lodi for this !!! Oh that ...
Page 9
... mind to think so of that act of Charles ; but it is so liable to ridicule , that if one man out of ten thousand laughs at it , he'll make the other nine thousand nine hundred and ninety - nine laugh too . " - Croker's Boswell , vol . iv ...
... mind to think so of that act of Charles ; but it is so liable to ridicule , that if one man out of ten thousand laughs at it , he'll make the other nine thousand nine hundred and ninety - nine laugh too . " - Croker's Boswell , vol . iv ...
Page 19
... mind of an author of any celebrity . Annoyed at the tone of disparagement in which his assailants - not content with blackening his moral and social character - now af- fected to speak of his genius , and somewhat mortified , there is ...
... mind of an author of any celebrity . Annoyed at the tone of disparagement in which his assailants - not content with blackening his moral and social character - now af- fected to speak of his genius , and somewhat mortified , there is ...
Page 24
... minds which seem at variance with their fortunes , and exhibit high and poignant feelings of pain and pleasure ; a keen sense of what is noble and honourable ; and an equally keen sus- ceptibility of injustice or injury , under the garb ...
... minds which seem at variance with their fortunes , and exhibit high and poignant feelings of pain and pleasure ; a keen sense of what is noble and honourable ; and an equally keen sus- ceptibility of injustice or injury , under the garb ...
Page 32
... mind's disease . Was it a dream ? was his the voice that spoke Those strange wild accents ; his the cry that broke Their slumber ? his the oppress'd , o'erlabour'd heart That ceased to beat , the look that made them start ? Could he who ...
... mind's disease . Was it a dream ? was his the voice that spoke Those strange wild accents ; his the cry that broke Their slumber ? his the oppress'd , o'erlabour'd heart That ceased to beat , the look that made them start ? Could he who ...
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Common terms and phrases
Alhama apostolic palace beautiful behold beneath blood Bonnivard bosom breast breath bright brow Château de Chillon Chillon cold Corinth dared dark dead death deep dream dungeon earth Ezzelin fame fate fear feel fell fix'd gazed Giaour GIFFORD glance glory grave grew guilt hand hast hath heard heart heaven hour King knew Lara Lara's less light living look look'd Lord Byron Madame de Staël Mariamne mind mingled MONODY Moore mortal ne'er never night numbers o'er once Parisina pass'd poem poetry R. B. SHERIDAN rest roll'd says scarce seem'd Sheridan shore Siege of Corinth sigh SIR WALTER SCOTT sleep smile sorrow soul spirit STANZAS steed stood strife tears tender thee thine thing thou art thought turn'd twas voice wall waves weep Whate'er wild wither'd words wound youth
Popular passages
Page vii - They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between; But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.
Page 241 - 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 ; It was as is a new-dug grave, Closing o'er one we sought to save, And yet my glance, too much opprest, Had almost need of such a rest.
Page 75 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
Page 313 - Though the ocean roar around me, Yet it still shall bear me on ; Though a desert should surround me, It hath springs that may be won. Were't the last drop in the well, As I gasp'd upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell, 'Tis to thee that I would drink. With that water, as this wine, The libation I would pour Should be — peace with thine and mine, And a health to thee, Tom Moore.
Page 315 - So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.
Page 236 - The last — the sole — the dearest link Between me and the eternal brink, Which bound me to my failing race, Was broken in this fatal place.
Page 127 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, 50 Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 228 - PRISONER OF CHILLON. MY hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears: My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are bann'd, and barr'd — forbidden fare...
Page 232 - A double dungeon wall and wave Have made — and like a living grave, Below the surface of the lake The dark vault lies wherein we lay; We heard it ripple night and day; Sounding o'er our heads it knocked.
Page 186 - FARE thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well : Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show ! Then thou wouldst at last discover 'T was not well to spurn it so.