The works, of ... lord Byron

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第 61 頁 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
第 90 頁 - Ionian blast, Hail the bright clime of battle and of song; Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore ; Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! Which sages venerate and bards adore, As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.
第 12 頁 - 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 at the gate. »Come hither, hither, my little page: Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along«.
第 88 頁 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his...
第 52 頁 - Look on this spot — .a nation's sepulchre ! Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. Even gods must yield — religions take their turn : Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — 'and other creeds Will rise with other years, till man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds.
第 26 頁 - With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and .now anon Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done ; For on this morn three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
第 15 頁 - I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea ; But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me? Perchance my dog will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger hands ; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands. With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine ! Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, So not again to mine. Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves ! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! My native Land— Good Night ! XIV.
第 92 頁 - What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.
第 89 頁 - The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ; Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below ; Death in the front, Destruction in the rear ! Such was the scene — what now...
第 9 頁 - Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, But pride congealed the drop within his ee: Apart he stalked in joyless reverie, And from his native land resolved to go, And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.

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