The Works of Lord Byron: With His Letters and Journals,, 第 16 卷John Murray, 1835 |
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Ali Pacha antè Auld Lang Syne Baba bastion batteries beauty blood Bosphorus brave breath brow call'd Canto Catherine Christian Circassian Cossacques death Don Juan doubt dream Duc de Richelieu Dudù e'er earth empress eyes face fair fame favourite feelings fell gazed Giaours glory Gulbeyaz head heart heaven hero Hist houris human human clay Ibid Ismail Juan's Juanna kind kings knew lady least less look look'd Lord Byron maid mind moral Muse ne'er never Nouvelle Russie o'er once pass'd passion perhaps poem poet Prince Prince de Ligne reach'd rhyme Russian scarce seem'd Seraskier show'd sleep slight smile soul strange sublime Suwarrow sweet tears things thou thought thousand toises true Turcs Turks turn'd Twas unto Voltaire wish'd women words young youth
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第 137 頁 - Not where he eats, but where he is eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet : we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots...
第 16 頁 - ... we are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps, and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason; and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps.
第 331 頁 - A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown On a fool's head - and there is London Town!
第 6 頁 - In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays; Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, That life protracted is protracted woe. Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy: In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal...
第 7 頁 - Some have accused me of a strange design Against the creed and morals of the land, And trace it in this poem every line: I don't pretend that I quite understand My own meaning when I would be very fine...
第 21 頁 - It has a strange quick jar upon the ear, That cocking of a pistol, when you know A moment more will bring the sight to bear Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so; A gentlemanly distance, not too near, If you have got a former friend for foe; But after being fired at once or twice, The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.
第 136 頁 - That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster...
第 176 頁 - They accuse me - Me - the present writer of The present poem - of - I know not what A tendency to under-rate and scoff At human power and virtue, and all that; And this they say in language rather rough. Good God! I wonder what they would be at! I say no more than hath been said in Dante's Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes...
第 7 頁 - Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. Far off from these a slow and silent stream, Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks, Forthwith his former state and being forgets, Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.