The works of lord Byron including his suppressed poems

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A. and W. Galignani, 1827 - 727 pages

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Page 53 - No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet. To chase the glowing hours with flying feet— 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"!
Page 53 - arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell; 3 But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ' XXII. Did ye not hear it?—No; 't was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance ! let joy be
Page 53 - 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
Page 76 - wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves
Page 45 - A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; A flashing pang! of which the weary breast Would still, albeit in vaiu, the heavy heart divest. XXV. To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where
Page 76 - thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. CLXXXIV. • And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wanton'd wilh thy breakers—they
Page 76 - beheld, thou rollest now. CLXXXIII. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Page 220 - mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, The tree of knowledge is not that of life. Philosophy and science, and the springs Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world, I have essay'd, and in my mind there is A power to make these subject to itself— But they avail not: I have done men good,
Page 65 - be defaced. XXVII. 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 i-. free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the
Page 52 - eddy boiling and o'erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame: And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd. T is too late ! Yet am I changed; though still enough the same In strength to bear what time can not abate, And feed on hitter fruits without accusing fate.

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