The Miscellaneous Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart: Periodical criticism. 1. Poetry

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A. and C. Black, 1870
 

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第 263 頁 - 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? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
第 260 頁 - And even since, and now, fair Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste More rich than other climes' fertility : Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.
第 256 頁 - And music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy! But unto us she hath a spell beyond Her name in story, and her long array Of mighty shadows...
第 79 頁 - Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is, in suing long to bide : To lose good days that might be better spent ; To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow ; To have thy prince's grace, yet want her peers...
第 189 頁 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
第 256 頁 - 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...
第 263 頁 - I see before me the gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
第 188 頁 - But know, that I alone am king of me. I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
第 193 頁 - As monumental bronze unchanged his look: A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook : Train'd, from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier, The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear— A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear.
第 218 頁 - MIDNIGHT, and yet no eye Through all the Imperial City closed in sleep ! Behold her streets a-blaze With light that seems to kindle the red sky, Her myriads swarming through the crowded ways ! Master and slave, old age and infancy, All, all abroad to gaze...

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