The Works of Lord Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, by Thomas Moore, Esq, Volume 9J. Murray, 1832 - Poets, English |
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Page 9
... breast , Whose thoughts are all thine own . Nor need I write to tell the tale - My pen were doubly weak : Oh ! what can idle words avail , Unless the heart could speak ? By day or night , in weal or woe , That heart , no longer free ...
... breast , Whose thoughts are all thine own . Nor need I write to tell the tale - My pen were doubly weak : Oh ! what can idle words avail , Unless the heart could speak ? By day or night , in weal or woe , That heart , no longer free ...
Page 19
... breast ! Still , still , preserve that love unbroken , Or break the heart to which thou ' rt press'd ! Time tempers love , but not removes , More hallow'd when its hope is fled : Oh ! what are thousand living loves To that which cannot ...
... breast ! Still , still , preserve that love unbroken , Or break the heart to which thou ' rt press'd ! Time tempers love , but not removes , More hallow'd when its hope is fled : Oh ! what are thousand living loves To that which cannot ...
Page 24
... breast may fade , The lonely hour presents again The semblance of thy gentle shade : And now that sad and silent hour Thus much of thee can still restore , And sorrow unobserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before . Oh ...
... breast may fade , The lonely hour presents again The semblance of thy gentle shade : And now that sad and silent hour Thus much of thee can still restore , And sorrow unobserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before . Oh ...
Page 36
... breast , Can patience preach thee into rest ? Alas ! too late , I dearly know That joy is harbinger of woe . STANZAS . [ " THOU ART NOT FALSE . " ] THOU art not false , but thou art fickle , To those thyself so fondly sought ; The tears ...
... breast , Can patience preach thee into rest ? Alas ! too late , I dearly know That joy is harbinger of woe . STANZAS . [ " THOU ART NOT FALSE . " ] THOU art not false , but thou art fickle , To those thyself so fondly sought ; The tears ...
Page 38
... breast , that melting eye , Too much invited to be bless'd : That gentle prayer , that pleading sigh , The wilder wish reproved , repress'd . Oh ! let me feel that all I lost But saved thee all that conscience fears ; And blush for ...
... breast , that melting eye , Too much invited to be bless'd : That gentle prayer , that pleading sigh , The wilder wish reproved , repress'd . Oh ! let me feel that all I lost But saved thee all that conscience fears ; And blush for ...
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Common terms and phrases
antè Athens bard bear beauty blood bosom breast bride Bride of Abydos canto Capel Lofft Childe Harold Conrad couplet dare dark dear death deeds Edinburgh Review fear feel foes gaze GEORGE ELLIS Giaffir Giaour Greek grief hand hast hate hath hear heart heaven heroic couplet hope hour less live lonely Lord Byron Lord Chamberlain Mamurra MOORE ne'er never night numbers o'er once Pacha pass'd poem poet poetry Pope praise quæ quid rhyme Romaic scarce scene seem'd Selim shore slave smile song soothe soul tale tears tell thee thine thing thou thought Twas verse voice Waltz wave Whate'er words Zuleika ἀπὸ δὲν διὰ Ἐγὼ εἶναι εἰς ἐν καὶ κὴ μὲ νὰ σᾶς τὰ τὰς τὴν τῆς τὸ τὸν τοῦ τοὺς τῶν
Popular passages
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 153 - 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...
Page 151 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, The first, last look by death reveal'd...
Page 153 - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Attest it many a deathless age ! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land ! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die...
Page 254 - Ours the wild life in tumult still to range From toil to rest, and joy in every change. Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! Whom slumber soothes...
Page 299 - Morea's hills the setting sun; not as in northern climes obscurely bright, but one unclouded blaze of living light : o'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws, gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows. On old jEgina's rock and Idra's isle the god of gladness sheds his parting smile; o'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, though there his altars are no more divine.
Page 165 - Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome!
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.