Autres éditions - Tout afficher
Adah Arqua art thou ASTARTE beautiful behold beneath blood blue breast breath BRIDE OF ABYDOS brow Byron Cain Canto CHAMOIS cheek CHILDE HAROLD clime clouds cold dare dark dead death deep didst DON JUAN dost dread dream dwell earth eyes F. T. PALGRAVE fair Farewell fear feel foam foes gaze gentle Giaour glory Goethe grave Greece hand hath heart heaven heaving Hellespont hour immortal light limbs live lone look look'd Lucifer MANFRED MATTHEW ARNOLD mortal mountains ne'er never night o'er ocean PARISINA pass'd poet poetry rock roll'd rose round Samian wine seem'd shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh slave smile soul spirit Stanzas stars steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thou hast thought throne tomb turn'd twas Twere voice waters wave weep wild wind Wordsworth youth
Page 65 - 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.
Page 91 - There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush!
Page 111 - I see before me the gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Page 92 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness...
Page 66 - 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 112 - Were with his heart, and that was far away; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire. And unavenged ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire.
Page 94 - Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction ; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That 1 with stern delights should e'er have been so moved.
Page 66 - Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae 1 What, silent still?
Page 21 - Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.