Lord Byron's Works ...F. Louis, 1821 |
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الصفحة 87
... Saint Maurice craves To greet your presence . ( Enter the ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . ) ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . Peace be with Count Manfred ! MANFRED . Thanks , holy father ! welcome to these walls ; Thy presence honours them , and ...
... Saint Maurice craves To greet your presence . ( Enter the ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . ) ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . Peace be with Count Manfred ! MANFRED . Thanks , holy father ! welcome to these walls ; Thy presence honours them , and ...
الصفحة 88
... SAINT MAURICE . My pious brethren - the scared peasantry- Even thy own vassals - who do look on thee With most unquiet eyes . Thy life's in perit . MANFRED . Take it . ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . I come to save , 88 MANFRED .
... SAINT MAURICE . My pious brethren - the scared peasantry- Even thy own vassals - who do look on thee With most unquiet eyes . Thy life's in perit . MANFRED . Take it . ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . I come to save , 88 MANFRED .
الصفحة 89
... SAINT MAURICE . My son ! I did not speak of punishment , But penitence and pardon ; —with thyself The choice of such remains - and for the last , Our institutions and our strong belief Have given me power to smooth the path from sin To ...
... SAINT MAURICE . My son ! I did not speak of punishment , But penitence and pardon ; —with thyself The choice of such remains - and for the last , Our institutions and our strong belief Have given me power to smooth the path from sin To ...
الصفحة 90
... SAINT MAURICE . All this is well ; For this will pass away , and be succeeded By an auspicious hope , which shall ... SAINT MAURICE . And what of this ? « It is too late ! » MANFRED . I answer with the Roman- ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . It ...
... SAINT MAURICE . All this is well ; For this will pass away , and be succeeded By an auspicious hope , which shall ... SAINT MAURICE . And what of this ? « It is too late ! » MANFRED . I answer with the Roman- ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . It ...
الصفحة 91
George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . It never can be so , To reconcile thyself with thy own soul , And thy own soul with heaven . Hast thou no hope ? ' Tis strange ... SAINT MAURICE . And why not live and ACT III . 91.
George Gordon Byron Baron Byron. ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE . It never can be so , To reconcile thyself with thy own soul , And thy own soul with heaven . Hast thou no hope ? ' Tis strange ... SAINT MAURICE . And why not live and ACT III . 91.
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
ABBOT OF SAINT Albania Alhama art thou ASTARTE beauty behold beneath blood Bonnivard bosom breast breath brow Cavalier Servente CHAMOIS HUNTER charm Childe Childe Harold CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE clouds cold courser dare dark dead death deemed deep dost doth dread dream dust dwell earth eyes fair fame fear feel gaze Giaour glory glow grave Greece hand hast hath heart heaven hope hour hues Idlesse immortal land light limbs live lone look MANFRED Mazeppa mighty mind mingling mortal mountains ne'er never night nought o'er once pang pass Pindus rock round SAINT MAURICE scarce scene shine shore SIEGE OF CORINTH sigh silent skies smile song soul spirit star steed stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thousand throne tomb twas Venice voice walls wandering waves wild wind youth
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 179 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more...
الصفحة 225 - Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed...
الصفحة 218 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
الصفحة 120 - 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 : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
الصفحة 167 - 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!
الصفحة 181 - Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless...
الصفحة 88 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 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!
الصفحة 105 - When elements to elements conform. And dust is as it should be, shall I not Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm ? The bodiless thought?
الصفحة 128 - 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.
الصفحة 99 - twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old, — The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.