Childe Harold's pilgrimage, with a memoir by W. Spalding |
この書籍内から
検索結果1-5 / 33
18 ページ
... wild as the gazelle's , Now brightly bold or beautifully shy , Wins as it wanders , dazzles where it dwells , Glance o'er this page , nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh , Could I to thee be ever more ...
... wild as the gazelle's , Now brightly bold or beautifully shy , Wins as it wanders , dazzles where it dwells , Glance o'er this page , nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh , Could I to thee be ever more ...
23 ページ
... wild sea - mew . Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight : Farewell awhile to him and thee , My native Land - Good Night ! 2 . " A few short hours , and he will rise To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main ...
... wild sea - mew . Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight : Farewell awhile to him and thee , My native Land - Good Night ! 2 . " A few short hours , and he will rise To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main ...
27 ページ
... wild flowers round them only breathe ; Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there , And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair : There thou , too , Vathek ! England's wealthiest son , Once form'd thy Paradise , as not aware When ...
... wild flowers round them only breathe ; Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there , And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair : There thou , too , Vathek ! England's wealthiest son , Once form'd thy Paradise , as not aware When ...
34 ページ
... wild Rapine's path pursued . XLV . Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued : Yet is she free - the spoiler's wish'd - for prey ! Soon , soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude , Blackening her ...
... wild Rapine's path pursued . XLV . Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued : Yet is she free - the spoiler's wish'd - for prey ! Soon , soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude , Blackening her ...
39 ページ
... wild pomp of mountain majesty ! What marvel if I thus essay to sing ? The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string , Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing . LXI . Oft have I ...
... wild pomp of mountain majesty ! What marvel if I thus essay to sing ? The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string , Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing . LXI . Oft have I ...
多く使われている語句
bear beauty behold beneath blood bosom breast breath bright brow charm chief Childe Childe Harold dare dark dead dear death deeds deem deep doth dread dream dust dwell earth fair fall fame fate feel fire gaze Glory glow grave hand hath heard heart Heaven hills hope hour immortal Italy land leave less light live lone look lord lost maids mind morn mortal mountains Nature never night o'er once pass passion plain proud rest rise rock Rome round scarce scene seek seen shore shrine sigh smile soft song soon soul sound spirit spring stand star stream sweet tear thee thine things thou thought thousand till true turn vain voice walls waters waves wild wind woes young youth
人気のある引用
166 ページ - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And Monarchs tremble in their Capitals, The oak Leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of Lord of thee, and Arbiter of War— These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
99 ページ - And this is in the night: — Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — A portion of the tempest and of thee!
93 ページ - I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me, High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture...
145 ページ - There is the moral of all human tales ; 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page...
159 ページ - Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; And why? It is not lessen'd; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.
78 ページ - But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is— it is— the cannon's opening roar! Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound, the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear...
97 ページ - At intervals some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill ; But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
134 ページ - The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss. And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set...
100 ページ - Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye ! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? Are ye like those within the human breast ? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest ? XCVII.
155 ページ - He recked 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, Butchered to make a Roman holiday — All this rushed with his blood — Shall he expire And unavenged ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! CXLII.