Selections from the Poetry of Lord ByronH. Holt, 1900 - 412 pages |
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Page 168
... ABBOT OF ST . MAURICE . NEMESIS . MANUEL . THE DESTINIES . HERMAN . SPIRITS , ETC. The scene of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alps— partly in the Castle of Manfred , and partly in the Mountains . ACT I. SCENE I. - MANFRED alone ...
... ABBOT OF ST . MAURICE . NEMESIS . MANUEL . THE DESTINIES . HERMAN . SPIRITS , ETC. The scene of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alps— partly in the Castle of Manfred , and partly in the Mountains . ACT I. SCENE I. - MANFRED alone ...
Page 199
... Abbot . Enter the ABBOT OF ST . MAURICE . 20 Peace be with Count Manfred ! Man . Thanks , holy father ! welcome to these walls ; Thy presence honors them , and blesseth those Who dwell within them . Abbot . Would it were so , Count ...
... Abbot . Enter the ABBOT OF ST . MAURICE . 20 Peace be with Count Manfred ! Man . Thanks , holy father ! welcome to these walls ; Thy presence honors them , and blesseth those Who dwell within them . Abbot . Would it were so , Count ...
Page 200
... Abbot . My pious brethren - the scared peasantry— Even thy own vassals - who do look on thee With most unquiet eyes . Thy life's in peril . Man . Take it . Abbot . I come to save , and not destroy— I would not pry into thy secret soul ...
... Abbot . My pious brethren - the scared peasantry— Even thy own vassals - who do look on thee With most unquiet eyes . Thy life's in peril . Man . Take it . Abbot . I come to save , and not destroy— I would not pry into thy secret soul ...
Page 201
... Abbot . And what of this ? Man . It is too late ! " Abbot . 80 I answer with the Roman— It never can be so , To reconcile thyself with thy own soul , And thy own soul with Heaven . Hast thou no hope ? 100 ' Tis strange - even those who ...
... Abbot . And what of this ? Man . It is too late ! " Abbot . 80 I answer with the Roman— It never can be so , To reconcile thyself with thy own soul , And thy own soul with Heaven . Hast thou no hope ? 100 ' Tis strange - even those who ...
Page 202
... Abbot . And wherefore so ? Man . I could not tame my nature down ; for he 110 Must serve who fain would sway ; and soothe — and sue- And watch all time - and pry into all place- And be a living lie- who would become A mighty thing ...
... Abbot . And wherefore so ? Man . I could not tame my nature down ; for he 110 Must serve who fain would sway ; and soothe — and sue- And watch all time - and pry into all place- And be a living lie- who would become A mighty thing ...
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Common terms and phrases
Abbot Ęschylus Alps Astarte Athens beauty behold beneath blood breast breath brow Byron Byron's note Cain canto Capitoline hill Childe Harold Chillon clouds Countess Guiccioli dark death deep Don Juan doth dread dream earth edition eternal eyes fair fame Faust feel gaze Giaour glory grave Greece hath heart heaven Hell hour human immortal Jungfrau lake land lines living Lord Lord Byron Lucifer lyric Manfred Manfred's Mazeppa mind mortal mountains nature ne'er never night o'er ocean pass'd passage passion Pausanias perhaps poem poet poet's poetic poetry Prisoner of Chillon rhyme rock sail Samian wine scene seem'd Shelley Shipwreck shore Siege of Corinth smile song soul spirit stanzas star story suggested sweet tears thee thine things thought Twas Venice verse waters wave wild wind Witch woes words Wordsworth written youth ΙΟ
Popular passages
Page 153 - 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.
Page 153 - Thou glorious mirror, where the 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, alone.
Page 303 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain.
Page 128 - There is the moral of all human tales; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page...
Page 263 - The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! "Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse ; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires'
Page 264 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
Page 246 - Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Page 296 - 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 mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Page 266 - But words are things ; and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think...
Page 291 - These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear...