Selections from the Poetry of Lord ByronH. Holt, 1900 - 412 pages |
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Page vi
... Wordsworth , and to write for him as she wrote for Words- worth , though in a different fashion , with her own penetrating simplicity . " II OUR enjoyment of Byron as a poet then is greater if we confine ourselves to Byron at his best ...
... Wordsworth , and to write for him as she wrote for Words- worth , though in a different fashion , with her own penetrating simplicity . " II OUR enjoyment of Byron as a poet then is greater if we confine ourselves to Byron at his best ...
Page xii
... Wordsworth on the one hand or Shelley on the other . His intuitions were not so subtle and fine as those of Keats or of Coleridge . But at any rate his inner life had been intense and passionate , and his outer life had led him to a ...
... Wordsworth on the one hand or Shelley on the other . His intuitions were not so subtle and fine as those of Keats or of Coleridge . But at any rate his inner life had been intense and passionate , and his outer life had led him to a ...
Page xxii
... Wordsworth's , or that his philosophy of life ( if indeed he ever attained any fully articulate philosophy of life ) is of permanent interest or importance apart from his poetry . But that his views on these subjects , essentially the ...
... Wordsworth's , or that his philosophy of life ( if indeed he ever attained any fully articulate philosophy of life ) is of permanent interest or importance apart from his poetry . But that his views on these subjects , essentially the ...
Page xxix
... Wordsworth , Moore , Campbell , I , — are all in the wrong , one as much as another ; that we are upon a wrong revolutionary poetical system , or systems , not worth a damn in itself , and from which none but Rogers and Crabbe are free ...
... Wordsworth , Moore , Campbell , I , — are all in the wrong , one as much as another ; that we are upon a wrong revolutionary poetical system , or systems , not worth a damn in itself , and from which none but Rogers and Crabbe are free ...
Page xxxiv
... Wordsworth's theory that " poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings , " and that " it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tran- quillity ; 1 the emotion is contemplated till , by a species of reaction , the ...
... Wordsworth's theory that " poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings , " and that " it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tran- quillity ; 1 the emotion is contemplated till , by a species of reaction , the ...
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Common terms and phrases
Abbot Æschylus 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...