The Works of Lord Byron, 12. kötetJ. Murray, 1904 |
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Allegra answer Appendix believe Bologna Bowles Bowles's Cain Canto Carbonari child copy Countess Guiccioli damned Dante DEAR Doge Doge of Venice Don Juan edition enclosed England English feel Foscari French friends Galignani Gifford Goethe Guiccioli hear heard Hobhouse honour Italian Italy January John Keats John Murray Kinnaird Lady Lady Morgan late least letter lines literary living London Lord Byron Madame Manfred Marino Faliero mean Memoirs Neapolitans never opinion packets passage passions person Pisa play poem poet poetical poetry Pope Pope's Pray present printed proofs prose published Quarterly Queen Ravenna received recollect Review Richard Belgrave Hoppner Rochdale Rome Sardanapalus Scott sent Shelley speak spirits stanza suppose sure talk tell thing Thomas Moore thought told tragedy translation Venice verses wish word write written wrote
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552. oldal - Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?— 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
466. oldal - OH, talk not to me of a name great in story ; The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
245. oldal - So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart ; Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel ; While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
268. oldal - The morning precious: beauty was awake! Why were ye not awake? But ye were dead To things ye knew not of, — were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile: so that ye taught a school Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, Their verses tallied.
141. oldal - Most gracious Queen, we thee implore To go away and sin no more; But, if that effort be too great, To go away at any rate.
564. oldal - Looking tranquillity ! It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight ; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chilness to my trembling heart.
466. oldal - Fame! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.
162. oldal - In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays; Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, That life protracted is protracted woe. Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy: In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal...
242. oldal - I shall complete it; but this was my notion: I meant to have made him a Cavalier Servente\ in Italy, and a cause for a divorce in England, and a Sentimental 'Wertherfaced man...
318. oldal - I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?