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acquaintance addressed admiration afterwards Ali Pacha answer appeared Athens Bards beautiful believe Bride of Abydos called canto character Childe Harold copy Dallas dear dine dinner Drury Edinburgh Review England English fame fancy feel genius Giaour Gifford Greece Harrow hear heard heart Hobhouse Hodgson honour hope Lady late least less letter lines look Lord Byron Lord Carlisle Lord Holland Madame Madame de Stael mind Moore morning MURRAY nature never Newstead Newstead Abbey night noble once opinion passage passion perhaps person poem poet poetical poetry praise Pray present published racter Ravenna recollect Review Rogers Satire seen sent Sheridan Siege of Corinth spirit Stael stanzas sure tell thing thou thought to-morrow told Venice verses wish words write written wrote young
Página 310 - MY sister! my sweet sister! if a name Dearer and purer were, it should be thine. Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim No tears, but tenderness to answer mine : Go where I will, to me thou art the same — A loved regret which I would not resign. There yet are two things in my destiny, — A world to roam through, and a home with thee.
Página 304 - He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Página 305 - But this is not all ; the feeling with which all around Clarens, and the opposite rocks of Meillerie, is invested, is of a still higher and more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual passion : it is a sense of the existence of love in its most extended and sublime capacity, and of our own participation of its good and of its glory; it is the great principle of the universe which is there more condensed, but not less manifested ; and of which, though knowing ourselves a part,...
Página 163 - ... he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I thought the
Página 154 - I have traversed the seat of war in the peninsula ; I have been in some of the most oppressed provinces of Turkey; but never, under the most despotic of infidel governments, did] I behold such squalid wretchedness as I have seen since my return, in the very heart of a Christian country.
Página 8 - t was not all long ages' lore, nor all Their nature held me in their thrilling thrall ; The infant rapture still survived the boy, And Loch-na-gar with Ida look'd o'er Troy,* Mix'd Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount, And Highland linns with Castalie's clear fount.
Página 63 - But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.
Página 355 - I am the more confirmed in this by having lately gone over some of our classics, particularly Pope, whom I tried in this way, — I took Moore's poems and my own and some others, and went over them side by side with Pope's, and I was really astonished (I ought not to have been so) and mortified at the ineffable distance in point of sense, learning, effect, and even imagination, passion, and invention, between the little Queen Anne's man, and us of the Lower Empire. Depend upon it, it is all Horace...
Página 334 - But each man's secret standard in his mind, That Casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, This, who can gratify ? for who can guess ? The Bard whom pilfer'd Pastorals renown, Who turns a Persian tale for half a Crown, Just writes to make his barrenness appear, And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year; He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left.
Página 308 - Clarens ! sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep Love ! Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above The very Glaciers have his colours caught, And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought By rays which sleep there lovingly...