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Æneid Alfonso antè appears beautiful blood Boabdil boat Canto character Childe Harold Coleridge death devil Don Giovanni Don Juan doubt e'er Edinburgh Review English English poetry epic Eutropius eyes fair fame father feel friends genius Giaour Grandmother's Review Haidée heart heaven honour hope hour human Juan's Julia knew lady less letter libertine living look'd Lord Byron mind Moore moral mother muse ne'er never noble o'er pass'd passion perhaps person Peter Bell poem poet poetical poetry Pope praise present reader rhyme ribaldry Samian wine scarce seem'd ship soul Southey spirit stanzas style sublime sure sweet tears There's thing thou thought turn'd Twas verse virtue Wat Tyler wave wife William Wordsworth wine wish words Wordsworth write written Yarrow young
Página 221 - And first one universal shriek there rush'd, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Página 88 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Página 91 - But ye were dead To things ye knew not of, — were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile; so that ye taught a school Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, Their verses tallied. Easy was the task: A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Of Poesy.
Página 88 - Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies ; His wit all see-saw between that and this, Now high, now low, now master up, now miss, And he himself one vile antithesis.
Página 321 - But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Página 329 - Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay.
Página 317 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships by thousands lay below, And men in nations; — all were his! He counted them at break of day, And when the sun set, where were they?
Página 316 - The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! "Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Página 276 - They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust, Is always so to women; one sole bond Awaits them, treachery is all their trust; Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond Over their idol, till some wealthier lust Buys them in marriage — and what rests beyond? A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over.
Página 327 - tis the hour of prayer ! Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! Ave Maria ! oh that face so fair ! Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove — What though 'tis but a pictured image strike, That painting is no idol, — 'tis too like.