Poetry of Byron, chosen by M. Arnold |
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Page xiv
... speaking of that exquisite master of language , the Italian poet Leopardi , remarks how often we see the alliance , singular though it may at first sight appear , of the poetical genius with the genius for scholar- ship and philology ...
... speaking of that exquisite master of language , the Italian poet Leopardi , remarks how often we see the alliance , singular though it may at first sight appear , of the poetical genius with the genius for scholar- ship and philology ...
Page xvii
... speaking of Byron at that moment was not and could not be quite the same cool critic as Goethe speaking of Dante , or Molière , or Milton . This , I say , we ought to remember in reading Goethe's judgments on Byron and his poetry ...
... speaking of Byron at that moment was not and could not be quite the same cool critic as Goethe speaking of Dante , or Molière , or Milton . This , I say , we ought to remember in reading Goethe's judgments on Byron and his poetry ...
Page xxix
... speak for himself . Surely the critic who does most for his author is the critic who gains readers for his author himself , not for any lucubrations on his author ; —gains more readers for him , and enables those readers to read him ...
... speak for himself . Surely the critic who does most for his author is the critic who gains readers for his author himself , not for any lucubrations on his author ; —gains more readers for him , and enables those readers to read him ...
Page 6
... Speak - speak of any thing but love . ' Twere long to tell , and vain to hear , The tale of one who scorns a tear ; And there is little in that tale Which better bosoms would bewail . But mine has suffer'd more than well ' Twould suit ...
... Speak - speak of any thing but love . ' Twere long to tell , and vain to hear , The tale of one who scorns a tear ; And there is little in that tale Which better bosoms would bewail . But mine has suffer'd more than well ' Twould suit ...
Page 14
... encircled waist ; By all the token - flowers that tell What words can never speak so well ; By love's alternate joy and woe , Ζώη μοῦ , σάς ἀγαπῶ . Maid of Athens ! I am gone ; Think of 14 POETRY OF BYRON . "Maid of Athens "
... encircled waist ; By all the token - flowers that tell What words can never speak so well ; By love's alternate joy and woe , Ζώη μοῦ , σάς ἀγαπῶ . Maid of Athens ! I am gone ; Think of 14 POETRY OF BYRON . "Maid of Athens "
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Common terms and phrases
Adah ASTARTE bear beautiful behold beneath blood blue breast breath bride BRIDE OF ABYDOS brow Byron Cain Canto Cast crowns cheek CHILDE HAROLD clime clouds cold Crown 8vo dare dark dead death deep DON JUAN dread earth Edition F. T. PALGRAVE fcap fear feel foam foes gaze gentle Giaour glory Goethe grave hand hath heart heaven heaving hour immortal isle knew land Leopardi light limbs live lone look look'd Lucifer MANFRED MATTHEW ARNOLD moonlight play mortal mountains ne'er never night o'er PARISINA pass'd Poems poet poetic poetry roll'd rose round Samian wine scarce seem'd seen shore sigh slave smile soul spirit Stanzas star steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thou hast thought throne turn'd twas Twere voice waters wave weep wild wind Wordsworth youth
Popular passages
Page 59 - 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 50 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Page xxviii - Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 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.
Page 98 - Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar Comes down upon the waters, all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse ; And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray.
Page 60 - 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 88 - 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 44 - His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay.
Page xxiv - What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither : Ripeness is all : Come on.
Page 32 - Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! ADA ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope. — Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me ; and on high The winds lift up their voices : I depart, Whither I know not ; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
Page 98 - The moon is up, and yet it is not night — Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains : Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be — Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity ; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Tloats through the azure air — an island of the blest ! XXVIII.