The Works of Lord Byron: With His Letters and Journals,

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Página 21 - How glorious in its action and itself ! But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will, Till our mortality predominates, And men are — what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other.
Página 29 - It is not noon— the Sunbow's rays still arch The torrent with the many hues of heaven, And roll the sheeted silver's waving column O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular, And fling its lines of foaming light along, And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death, As told in the Apocalypse.
Página 65 - The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. - Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face ; Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.
Página 12 - The Glacier's cold and restless mass Moves onward day by day ; But I am he who bids it pass, Or with its ice delay.
Página 35 - She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the universe: nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears — which I had not; And tenderness — but that I had for her; Humility — and that I never had. Her faults were mine — her virtues were her own — I loved her, and destroy 'd her!
Página 66 - Caesars' palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, Of distant sentinels the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach Appeared to skirt the horizon ; yet they stood Within a bow-shot.
Página 59 - This should have been a noble creature: he Hath all the energy which would have made A goodly frame of glorious elements, Had they been wisely mingled; as it is, It is an awful chaos— Light and Darkness— And mind and dust— and passions and pure thoughts Mixed, and contending without end or order,— All dormant or destructive.
Página 66 - Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome ; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber ; and More near from out the Caesars...
Página 47 - Hear me, hear me — Astarte ! my beloved ! speak to me : I have so much endured — so much endure — Look on me ! the grave hath not changed thee more Than I am changed for thee.
Página 22 - Oh, that I were The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, A living voice, a breathing harmony, A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying With the blest tone which made me ! Enter -fr/om below a CHAMOIS HUNTER CHAMOIS HUKTER.

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