Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt |
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Página 17
... blood beneath the assassin's knife , Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath ; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this purple land , where law secures not life . ( ) XXII . On sloping mounds , or in the vale ...
... blood beneath the assassin's knife , Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath ; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this purple land , where law secures not life . ( ) XXII . On sloping mounds , or in the vale ...
Página 19
... 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 , that such hills upheld a freeborn race ! ) Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills ...
... 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 , that such hills upheld a freeborn race ! ) Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills ...
Página 22
... blood - red tresses deep'ning in the sun , With death - shot glowing in his fiery hands , And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; Restless it rolls , now fix'd , and now anon Flashing afar , - and at his iron feet - Destruction ...
... blood - red tresses deep'ning in the sun , With death - shot glowing in his fiery hands , And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; Restless it rolls , now fix'd , and now anon Flashing afar , - and at his iron feet - Destruction ...
Página 29
... blood is mantling , who can ' scape The fascination of thy magic gaze ? A Cherub - hydra round us dost thou gape , And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape . LXVI . When Paphos fell by time- accursed Time ! The Queen who ...
... blood is mantling , who can ' scape The fascination of thy magic gaze ? A Cherub - hydra round us dost thou gape , And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape . LXVI . When Paphos fell by time- accursed Time ! The Queen who ...
Página 32
... blood betimes , his heart delights In vengeauce gloating on another's pain . What private feuds the troubled village stain ! Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foe , Enough , alas ! in humble homes remain , To meditate ...
... blood betimes , his heart delights In vengeauce gloating on another's pain . What private feuds the troubled village stain ! Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foe , Enough , alas ! in humble homes remain , To meditate ...
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Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt. (Harrow ed.). George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) Visualização integral - 1831 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
Albanian Ali Pacha ancient Ariosto Athens beauty beheld beneath blood Boccaccio bosom breast breath brow Cæsar Canto Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE church Cicero Constantinople dark death deem'd deep doth dust earth Egeria fair fame feel Ficus Ruminalis foes gaze glory gondoliers Greece Greek hand hath heart heaven hills Historical Notes honour hope immortal Italian Italy lake land lightning live Lord mind mortal mountains never o'er once pass Petrarch plain poet Pouqueville rock Romaic Roman Rome ruin scene shore sigh smile song soul spot Stanza Storia Tasso tears temple thee thine things thou thought tomb triumph Venetians Venice walls waves wild winds woes wolf ἀπὸ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς εἰς τὴν ἐν καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ σᾶς τὰ τὰς τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν ὡς
Passagens conhecidas
Página 126 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! 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!
Página 189 - 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 can not all conceal.
Página 107 - There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring.
Página 190 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight : and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.
Página 127 - Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye ! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? Are ye like those within the human breast ? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest ? XCVII.
Página 42 - Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where, Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ? Gone — glimmering through the dream of things that were...
Página 99 - Is THY face like thy mother's, my fair child! Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope.
Página 106 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, - alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...
Página 124 - He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Página 101 - Yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame : And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd.