Byron and Greece

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J. Murray, 1924 - 336 páginas
 

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Página 93 - 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...
Página 169 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks— They have a king who buys and sells; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells: But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad.
Página 85 - 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...
Página 168 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet; Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gave Think ye he meant them for a slave? 'Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! We will not think of themes like these! It made Anacreon's song divine: He served - but served Polycrates A tyrant; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen.
Página 51 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields ; There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain air; Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair.
Página 167 - What, silent still? and silent all? Ah! no — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head, But one arise — we come, we come!
Página 43 - Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow ? By their right arms the conquest must be wrought?
Página 95 - 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 color though varied, in beauty may vie...
Página 51 - tis haunted, holy ground ; No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon...
Página 101 - SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light : O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws, Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows.

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