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answer appears beautiful believe blood boat Canto cause character child death devil died Don Juan doubt earth English eyes face fact fair fame father feel friends genius give half hand head heard heart heaven honour hope hour human Italy Julia kind knew lady land late least leave less letter light lines living look Lord Byron matter mean mind moral mother nature never o'er observations once opinion passages passion perhaps person poem poet poetry praise present reader rest Review ship sort soul Southey speak spirit supposed sure sweet tears tell thing thought true truth turn verse virtue wave whole wife wind wine wish write written young
Page 313 - Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart | Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay; Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ? iAh!
Page 305 - 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 78 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Page 304 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells : But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad.
Page 28 - Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow ! We will not see them ; will not go, To-day, nor yet to-morrow, Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow.
Page 211 - 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 184 - No more — no more — oh ! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new, Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee, Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew?
Page 191 - Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain...