Selections from the Poetry of Lord Byron |
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Page xv
I never courted it then, when I was young and high in blood, and one of its ' curled
darlings ' ; and do you think I would do so now, when I am living in a clearer
atmosphere ? One thing only might lead me back to it, and that is to try once more
if ...
I never courted it then, when I was young and high in blood, and one of its ' curled
darlings ' ; and do you think I would do so now, when I am living in a clearer
atmosphere ? One thing only might lead me back to it, and that is to try once more
if ...
Page xvii
True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt, But what of that ? the Gaul may
bear the guilt ; But bread was high, the farmer paid his way, And acres told upon
the appointed day. ****** Up, up again, ye rents ! exalt your notes, Or else the ...
True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt, But what of that ? the Gaul may
bear the guilt ; But bread was high, the farmer paid his way, And acres told upon
the appointed day. ****** Up, up again, ye rents ! exalt your notes, Or else the ...
Page xxxi
In the words of the tragedian Liston, ' I love a row,' " he says. The grandson of a
famous admiral and the descendant of Norman warriors ana of cavalier knights, it
was in his blood to delight in struggle and passion and the active life. His poetry ...
In the words of the tragedian Liston, ' I love a row,' " he says. The grandson of a
famous admiral and the descendant of Norman warriors ana of cavalier knights, it
was in his blood to delight in struggle and passion and the active life. His poetry ...
Page 10
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, Some hand erects a cross of
mouldering lath ; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this
purple land,. where_.law._s.eeur.es p.ot JifeJ.-/ XXII. On sloping mounds, or in ...
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, Some hand erects a cross of
mouldering lath ; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this
purple land,. where_.law._s.eeur.es p.ot JifeJ.-/ XXII. On sloping mounds, or in ...
Page 14
Lo ! where the giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deepening 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 ...
Lo ! where the giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deepening 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 ...
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Common terms and phrases
A. C. Swinburne Abbot Astarte Athens beauty behold beneath blood breast breath brow Byron Byron's note Cain canto Childe Harold Chillon clouds Countess Guiccioli dark dead death deep Don Juan doth dread dream dwell earth Edited eternal eyes fair fame feel foes gaze Giaour glory grave Greece hath heart heaven hell hope hour human immortal Jungfrau lake land lines live look Lord Lord Byron Lucifer lyric Manfred Manfred's Mazeppa mind mortal mountains nature ne'er never night o'er ocean pass'd passion Pausanias poem poet poet's poetic poetry Prisoner of Chillon Prof rock sail Samian wine scene seem'd Shelley shore Siege of Corinth smile song soul spirit stanzas stars sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought Twas Venice verse voice waters waves wild wind woes words Wordsworth youth
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...
Bibliographic information
| Title | Selections from the Poetry of Lord Byron English readings |
| Author | George Gordon Byron Baron Byron |
| Editor | Frederic Ives Carpenter |
| Publisher | H. Holt, 1900 |
| Original from | Harvard University |
| Digitized | 27 Feb 2008 |
| Length | 412 pages |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |