Childe Harold's pilgrimage, ed. by W. Hiley |
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Page xxi
Ah ! may'st thou ever be what now thou art , Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring , 2 As fair in form , as warm yet pure in heart , Love's image upon earth without his wing , And guileless beyond Hope's imagining !
Ah ! may'st thou ever be what now thou art , Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring , 2 As fair in form , as warm yet pure in heart , Love's image upon earth without his wing , And guileless beyond Hope's imagining !
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Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth , Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill : Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill Yes ! sighed o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine , Where , save that feeble fountain , all is ...
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth , Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill : Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill Yes ! sighed o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine , Where , save that feeble fountain , all is ...
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... and pass Earth's central line . XII The sails were filled , and fair the light winds blew , As glad to waft him from his native home ; And fast the white rocks faded from his view , And soon were lost in circumambient foam : And ...
... and pass Earth's central line . XII The sails were filled , and fair the light winds blew , As glad to waft him from his native home ; And fast the white rocks faded from his view , And soon were lost in circumambient foam : And ...
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2 A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main and skies , But not my mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; My dog howls ...
2 A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth ; And I shall hail the main and skies , But not my mother earth . Deserted is my own good hall , Its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; My dog howls ...
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But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge ' Gainst those who most transgress his high command , With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host , and earth from ...
But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge ' Gainst those who most transgress his high command , With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host , and earth from ...
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Popular passages
Page 162 - 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.
Page 98 - 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!
Page 96 - 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 I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved.
Page 74 - There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered 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 looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell...
Page 150 - He heard it, but he heeded not - his eyes 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?
Page 99 - 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, O tempests! is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest?
Page 75 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress...
Page 77 - Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! XXIX.
Page 106 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand...
Page 76 - The foe! They come! They come!" And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: — How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their...
Bibliographic information
| Title | Childe Harold's pilgrimage, ed. by W. Hiley |
| Author | George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) |
| Editor | Walter Hiley |
| Published | 1877 |
| Original from | Oxford University |
| Digitized | 9 Aug 2006 |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |