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appear arms bard bear beauty beneath better blood bosom breast Complete dare dark dead dear death dream earth edition fair fall fame father fear feel fire give hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour Iden Lady late least leave less lines live look Lord Lord Byron means mind muse nature ne'er never night o'er once pass past peace poem poor praise present printed published race rest Review rhyme rise round scarce scene Sieg sleep smile song soul sound spirit Stral Stran sure tears tell thee thine things thou thought true turn verse voice volume wave wish young youth
Page 315 - I strode through the pine-cover'd glade ; I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. " Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night -rolling breath of the gale ? " Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale.
Page 550 - Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd Themselves in orisons ! thou material God ! And representative of the Unknown — Who chose thee for his shadow...
Page 365 - ... shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose ; Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime. Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of
Page 196 - Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest ; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides ; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand...
Page 189 - We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead, For these most bloom where rests the warrior's head; And we will sit in twilight's face, and see The sweet moon glancing through the tooa tree, The lofty accents of whose sighing bough Shall sadly please us as we lean below ; Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vain Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main, Which spurn in columns back the baffled spray. How beautiful are these ! how happy they, Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives, Steal...
Page 485 - SAINT Peter sat by the celestial gate, His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, So little trouble had been given of late ; Not that the place by any means was full, But since the Gallic era " eighty-eight," The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull, And "a pull altogether," as they say At sea— which drew most souls another way.
Page 506 - He had written praises of a regicide; He had written praises of all kings whatever; He had written for republics far and wide, And then against them bitterer than ever; For pantisocracy he once had cried Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever; Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin — Had turn'd his coat — and would have turn'd his skin.
Page 490 - But bringing up the rear of this bright host A Spirit of a different aspect waved His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved ; His brow was like the deep when tempest-tossed ; Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved Eternal wrath on his immortal face, And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space.