The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, Volume 3, Part 1J. Murray, 1873 |
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Page 8
... fair locks ; " then to " spread them on the arch of the rainbow ; " and " to smile through the tears of the storm . " Of this kind of thing there are no less than nine pages ; and we can so far venture an opinion in their favour , that ...
... fair locks ; " then to " spread them on the arch of the rainbow ; " and " to smile through the tears of the storm . " Of this kind of thing there are no less than nine pages ; and we can so far venture an opinion in their favour , that ...
Page 11
... fair recite that he too was a poet , and wrote down the lines " In thee , I fondly hope to clasp . " Then it was that the idea occurred to him of printing hi manuscripts for private circulation , and he immediately set about revis ing ...
... fair recite that he too was a poet , and wrote down the lines " In thee , I fondly hope to clasp . " Then it was that the idea occurred to him of printing hi manuscripts for private circulation , and he immediately set about revis ing ...
Page 31
... fair science , or evade control , Though passive tutors , 21 fearful to dispraise The titled child , whose future breath may raise , View ducal errors with indulgent eyes , And wink at faults they tremble to chastise . When youthful ...
... fair science , or evade control , Though passive tutors , 21 fearful to dispraise The titled child , whose future breath may raise , View ducal errors with indulgent eyes , And wink at faults they tremble to chastise . When youthful ...
Page 38
... fair , Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam , We must admire , but still despair ; That fatal glance forbids esteem . When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth , So much perfection in thee shone , She fear'd that , too divine for earth ...
... fair , Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam , We must admire , but still despair ; That fatal glance forbids esteem . When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth , So much perfection in thee shone , She fear'd that , too divine for earth ...
Page 39
... fair and fond deceiver , How prompt are striplings to believe her ! How throbs the pulse when first we view The eye that rolls in glossy blue , Or sparkles black , or mildly throws A beam from under hazel brows ! How quick we credit ...
... fair and fond deceiver , How prompt are striplings to believe her ! How throbs the pulse when first we view The eye that rolls in glossy blue , Or sparkles black , or mildly throws A beam from under hazel brows ! How quick we credit ...
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Common terms and phrases
bard beam beauty behold beneath bids blest bosom breast breath Calmar Capel Lofft CATULLUS dare dark dear death delight dream Drury Dunciad E'en Edinburgh Review edition English Bards fame fate fear feel fire foes folly fond forget friendship genius gentle glory glow grave Harrow hath heart heaven hero honour hope hour Jeffrey kiss Lady line 12 line 24 live Lochlin Lord Byron Lord Fanny love's last adieu LYCUS lyre Mathon mingle Morven mourn muse ne'er never Newstead Newstead Abbey night numbers o'er once Orla Oscar passion pibroch poem poet poetry praise pride Probus R. B. SHERIDAN remembrance rhyme rise satire scenes shade sigh sire sleep smile song soothe soul Southey spirit stanzas strain sweet tears thee thine thou thought throng truth verse voice Walter Scott wave weep wings young youth
Popular passages
Page 319 - 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. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
Page 319 - But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Page 319 - 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 327 - 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!
Page 359 - A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds Of fiery climes he made himself a home, And his soul drank their sunbeams: he was girt With strange and dusky aspects; he was not Himself like what he had been; on the sea And on the shore he was a wanderer...
Page 6 - See how a minor can write! This poem was actually composed by a young man of eighteen, and this by one of only sixteen!» — But, alas! we all remember the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve; and so far from hearing, with any degree of surprise, that very poor verses were written by a youth from his leaving school to his leaving college, inclusive, we really believe this to be the most common of all occurrences; that it happens in the life- of nine men in ten who are educated in England;...
Page 293 - All Evil Spirit as thou art, It is enough to grieve the heart To see thine own unstrung; To think that God's fair world hath been The footstool of a thing so mean!
Page 313 - Fix'd in its own eternity. Above or love, hope, hate, or fear, It lives all passionless and pure : An age shall fleet like earthly year ; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly ; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.
Page 10 - But whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor, it seems we must take them as we find them, and be content; for they are the last we shall ever have from him. He is, at best, he says, but an intruder into the groves of Parnassus ; he never lived in a garret, like thorough-bred poets; and "though he once roved a careless mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland," he has not of late enjoyed this advantage.
Page 348 - Of light no likeness is bequeath'd — no name, Focus at once of all the rays of Fame ! The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence, The beam of Song, the blaze of Eloquence, Set with their Sun, but still have left behind The enduring produce of immortal Mind ; Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon, A deathless part of him who died too soon.