The Works of Lord Byron: With His Letters and Journals,

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John Murray, 1833 - Poets, English
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Page 207 - KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime...
Page viii - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder...
Page 152 - Such is the aspect of this shore; >Tis Greece, but living Greece no more So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath...
Page 208 - Wax faint o'er the gardens of gul in her bloom, Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute , Where the tints of the earth , and the hues of the sky , In colour though varied, in beauty may vie...
Page 309 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!
Page 164 - Tis left to fly or fall alone. With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, Ah! where shall either victim rest? Can this with faded pinion soar From rose to tulip as before? Or Beauty, blighted in an hour , Find joy within her broken bower?
Page 272 - There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled, and Mercy sigh'd farewell!
Page 263 - O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Page 23 - Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep ; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away ; I might have watch'd through long decay.
Page 179 - But first, on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be 'rent : Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race : There, from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life ; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse : Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.

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