The works of ... lord Byron

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الصفحة 108 - Gul in her bloom? Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute, Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye; Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the Sun— Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers...
الصفحة 28 - No : gayer insects fluttering by Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own, And every woe a tear can claim Except an erring sister's shame.
الصفحة 8 - Clime of the unforgotten brave ! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was freedom's home or glory's grave ! Shrine of the mighty! can it be, That this is all remains of thee ? Approach, thou craven crouching slave: Say, is not this Thermopylae?
الصفحة 107 - KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime...
الصفحة 6 - And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill changeless brow, Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart...
الصفحة 141 - THE winds are high on Helle's wave, As on that night of stormy water When Love, who sent, forgot to save The young, the beautiful, the brave, The lonely hope of Sestos
الصفحة 7 - Greece, but living Greece no more ! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom, . That hue which haunts it to the tomb, Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of Feeling, past away!
الصفحة 63 - Who would be doom'd to gaze upon A sky without a cloud or sun ? Less hideous far the tempest's roar Than ne'er to brave the billows more — Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, 'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay, Unseen to drop by dull decay ; — Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock...
الصفحة 71 - The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name ; But mine was like the lava flood That boils in ^Etna's breast of flame...
الصفحة 5 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead, Ere the first day of death is fled ; The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress ; (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...

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