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“The” Works of the Right Honourable Lord Byron: Childe Harold, Volum 1
George Gordon Byron Baron Byron
Visualització completa - 1818
Albania amongst ancient appear Athens bear beautiful behold beneath better blood breast Castri chief Childe Harold dark dear deemed doubt dream dwell earth fair fall feel French gaze give Greece Greeks ground hand hath heard heart honour hope hour Hymettus kind land late least less live look Lord lost maid mountain native never o'er observation once passed plain pleasure present rest Review rise rock Romaic scarce scene seemed seen shore sigh sight slave song sons soul Spain speak Stanza tear tell thee thine thing thou thought translation traveller true Turks turn walls wave wild young youth ας δεν εις εν και κή με να τα τας την το τον των
Pàgina 68 - Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul: Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit And Passion's host, that never brook'd control : Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ? VII. Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! "All that we know is, nothing can be known.
Pàgina 32 - By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the air ! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.
Pàgina 127 - Eximia veste et victu convivia, ludi, pocula crebra, unguenta coronae serta parantur, nequiquam, quoniam medio de fonte leporum surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat...
Pàgina 130 - Man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven As make the angels weep.
Pàgina 105 - Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! Who now shall lead thy scattered children forth, And long accustomed bondage uncreate?
Pàgina 31 - Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His 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 cowers, to mark what deeds are done; For on this morn three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
Pàgina 89 - Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found! Rock, river, forest, mountain all abound, And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul.
Pàgina 139 - The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white ; the spare, active form ; their dialect, Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Mprven.
Pàgina 23 - Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow : But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou ! Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow To halls deserted, portals gaping wide : Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied ; Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide ! XXIV.