The works of lord Byron, comprehending the suppressed poems, Volumes 5-6 |
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Page 8
... pain : Around him some mysterious circle thrown Repell❜d approach , and show'd him still alone ; Upon his eye sate something of reproof , That kept at least frivolity aloof ; And things more timid that beheld him near , In silence ...
... pain : Around him some mysterious circle thrown Repell❜d approach , and show'd him still alone ; Upon his eye sate something of reproof , That kept at least frivolity aloof ; And things more timid that beheld him near , In silence ...
Page 54
... pain . 1070 He clasps the hand that pang which would assuage , And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page Who nothing fears , nor feels , nor heeds , nor sees , Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees ; Save that pale aspect ...
... pain . 1070 He clasps the hand that pang which would assuage , And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page Who nothing fears , nor feels , nor heeds , nor sees , Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees ; Save that pale aspect ...
Page 86
... pains the morrow may requite With all revenge and love can pay , In guerdon for their long delay . Few hours remain , and he hath need Of rest , to nerve for many a deed 245 Of slaughter ; but within his soul The thoughts like troubled ...
... pains the morrow may requite With all revenge and love can pay , In guerdon for their long delay . Few hours remain , and he hath need Of rest , to nerve for many a deed 245 Of slaughter ; but within his soul The thoughts like troubled ...
Page 95
... pain . There is something of pride in the perilous hour , Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower , For Fame is there to say who bleeds , And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! But when all is past , it is humbling to tread O'er the ...
... pain . There is something of pride in the perilous hour , Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower , For Fame is there to say who bleeds , And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! But when all is past , it is humbling to tread O'er the ...
Page 158
... . With inward starts of feeling left , To throb o'er those of life bereft ; Without the power to fill again The desert gap which made his pain ; 565 570 Without the hope to meet them where United souls shall 158 PARISINA .
... . With inward starts of feeling left , To throb o'er those of life bereft ; Without the power to fill again The desert gap which made his pain ; 565 570 Without the hope to meet them where United souls shall 158 PARISINA .
Common terms and phrases
ABBOT Alhama apostolic palace art thou ASTARTE beautiful behold beneath Beppo blood Bonnivard bosom breast breath brow call'd Cavalier Servente CHAMOIS clouds cold courser dare dark Darvell dead death deep doth dread dream earth Ezzelin falchion fame fate fear feel fell fix'd forget gazed glance glory grave grew grief hand hast hath heard heart heaven Hetman hope hour immortal knew Lara Lara's light limbs lips living lonely look look'd LORD BYRON MANFRED Mazeppa mortal mountain ne'er never night numbers o'er once Otho pain Parisina pass'd past scarce scene seem'd shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh silent sleep smile sorrow soul sound spirit star steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought turn'd twas twere twill Venice voice wall waves weep Whate'er wild wither'd words youth Аввот
Popular passages
Page 124 - 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 125 - 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 184 - With spiders I had friendship made, And watch'd them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they ? We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell ! In quiet we had learn'd to dwell. My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are ; — even I Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.
Page 125 - 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...
Page 100 - 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 99 - She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Page 183 - And then there was a little isle, Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view ; A small green isle, it seem'd no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue.
Page 176 - Was as a mockery of the tomb, Whose tints as gently sunk away As a departing rainbow's ray; An eye of most transparent light, That almost made the dungeon bright, And not a word of murmur, not A groan o'er his untimely lot...
Page 209 - If it be life to wear within myself This barrenness of spirit, and to be My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased To justify my deeds unto myself — The last infirmity of evil.
Page 230 - They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well : Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell.