The Works of Lord Byron: Childe Harold's pilgrimageJohn Murray, 1821 |
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Página 4
... , ebbing , leave a steril track behind , O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life , -where not a flower appears . IV . Since my young days of passion - joy 4 CANTO III . CHILDE HAROLD'S.
... , ebbing , leave a steril track behind , O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life , -where not a flower appears . IV . Since my young days of passion - joy 4 CANTO III . CHILDE HAROLD'S.
Página 7
... appears at last ; He of the breast which fain no more would feel , Wrung with the wounds which kill not , but ne'er heal ; Yet Time , who changes all , had alter'd him In soul and aspect as in age : years steal Fire from the mind as ...
... appears at last ; He of the breast which fain no more would feel , Wrung with the wounds which kill not , but ne'er heal ; Yet Time , who changes all , had alter'd him In soul and aspect as in age : years steal Fire from the mind as ...
Página 48
... appear Precipitously steep ; and drawing near , There breathes a living fragrance from the shore , Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar , Or chirps the grasshopper one good - night ...
... appear Precipitously steep ; and drawing near , There breathes a living fragrance from the shore , Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar , Or chirps the grasshopper one good - night ...
Página 52
... appear as lovers who have parted In hate , whose mining depths so intervene , That they can meet no more , though broken - hearted ; Though in their souls , which thus each other thwarted , Love was the very root of the fond rage Which ...
... appear as lovers who have parted In hate , whose mining depths so intervene , That they can meet no more , though broken - hearted ; Though in their souls , which thus each other thwarted , Love was the very root of the fond rage Which ...
Página 67
... appears to want little but a better cause , and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot , to vie in interest with any or all of these , except perhaps the last mentioned . 8 . Like to ...
... appears to want little but a better cause , and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot , to vie in interest with any or all of these , except perhaps the last mentioned . 8 . Like to ...
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The Works of Lord Byron: Childe Harold's pilgrimage George Gordon Byron Baron Byron Visualização integral - 1821 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
amidst amongst ancient Ariosto beauty beneath blood Boccaccio breast breath brow Cæsar called Canto Certaldo Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE Chioza church Cicero Classical Tour clouds Comitium dead death Decameron deep divine Doge dust earth edit Egeria Emperor empire eyes fall fame feeling Ficus Ruminalis Flaminius Florence Florentine foes gaze Genoese glory gondoliers Harold hath heart heaven hills Hist honour hyæna immortal inscription Italian Italy Julius Cæsar lake light live Livy memory mind mortal mountains Muses Nardini nymph o'er Padua pass passion Petrarch poet quæ Roman Rome round ruin scene seems seen shore soul spirit spot stand Stanza star statue Storia delle arti Suetonius Tasso tears temple temple of Romulus thee thine things thou thought throne tomb tree triumphs valley Venetians Venice voice walls waves wind Winkelmann woes wolf words writer καὶ
Passagens conhecidas
Página 179 - 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 87 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Página 14 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet...
Página 15 - 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 Blushed 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...
Página 17 - 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...
Página 31 - The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strew'da scene, •which I should see With double joy wert thou with me.
Página 157 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony ; And his droop'd head sinks gradually low ; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won.
Página 157 - 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!
Página 41 - I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me, High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture...
Página 62 - I have not loved the world, nor the world me, But let us part fair foes; I do believe, Though I have found them not, that there may be Words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, And virtues which are merciful, nor weave Snares for the failing; I would also deem O'er others...