Lord Byron's Works ...F. Louis, 1821 |
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Seite 16
... rest ye at our « Lady's house of woe ; » Where frugal monks their little relics show , And sundry legends to the stranger tell : Here impious men have punished been , and lo ! Deep in you cave Honorius long did dwell , In hope to merit ...
... rest ye at our « Lady's house of woe ; » Where frugal monks their little relics show , And sundry legends to the stranger tell : Here impious men have punished been , and lo ! Deep in you cave Honorius long did dwell , In hope to merit ...
Seite 19
... rest him on his pilgrimage ; And o'er him many changing scenes must roll Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage , Or he shall calm his breast , or learn experience sage , XXIX . Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay , Where dwelt ...
... rest him on his pilgrimage ; And o'er him many changing scenes must roll Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage , Or he shall calm his breast , or learn experience sage , XXIX . Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay , Where dwelt ...
Seite 26
... rest , Wide scattered hoof - marks dint the wounded ground ; And , scathed by fire , the green sward's darkened vest Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest : ; Here was the camp , the watch - flame , and the host Here the bold peasant ...
... rest , Wide scattered hoof - marks dint the wounded ground ; And , scathed by fire , the green sward's darkened vest Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest : ; Here was the camp , the watch - flame , and the host Here the bold peasant ...
Seite 32
... rest ; What hallows it upon this Christian shore ? Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast : Hark ! heard you not the forest - monarch's roar ? Crashing the lance , he snuffs the spouting gore Of man and steed , o'erthrown beneath his horn ...
... rest ; What hallows it upon this Christian shore ? Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast : Hark ! heard you not the forest - monarch's roar ? Crashing the lance , he snuffs the spouting gore Of man and steed , o'erthrown beneath his horn ...
Seite 37
... rest , or flies ; And Vice , that digs her own voluptuous tomb , Had buried long his hopes , no more to rise : Pleasure's palled victim ! life - abhorring gloom , Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom . LXXXIV . Still he ...
... rest , or flies ; And Vice , that digs her own voluptuous tomb , Had buried long his hopes , no more to rise : Pleasure's palled victim ! life - abhorring gloom , Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom . LXXXIV . Still he ...
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
ABBOT OF SAINT Albania Alhama art thou ASTARTE beauty behold beneath blood Bonnivard bosom breast breath brow Cavalier Servente CHAMOIS HUNTER charm Childe Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE clouds cold courser dare dark dead death deemed deep dost doth dread dream dust dwell earth eyes fair fame fear feel gaze Giaour glory glow grave Greece hand hast hath heart heaven hope hour hues Idlesse immortal land light limbs live lone look MANFRED Mazeppa mighty mind mingling mortal mountains ne'er never night nought o'er once pang pass Pindus rock round SAINT MAURICE scarce scene shine shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh silent skies smile song soul spirit star steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thousand throne tomb twas Venice voice walls wandering waves wild wind youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 179 - 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...
Seite 225 - 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. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed...
Seite 218 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Seite 120 - 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...
Seite 167 - 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!
Seite 181 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless...
Seite 88 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's magnificently stern array!
Seite 105 - When elements to elements conform. And dust is as it should be, shall I not Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm ? The bodiless thought?
Seite 128 - Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste More rich than other climes' fertility ; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.
Seite 99 - twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old, — The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.