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Assyria beautiful born bound breath Byron called Canto character Childe Harold Chillon cold Criticism dark dead death deep died Don Juan earth edition England English Essay eyes fall famous fear feel feet felt friends give Glory Greece Greek grew hand hath head heart hope hour Italy king knew leave less light limbs literary Literature lived London look Lord lyric March Mazeppa mother mountains Nature never night o'er once passed perhaps period Persian personality poems poet poet's poetic poetry Prisoner published remains rest Rhetoric rise round scarcely seemed seen Selections Shelley side soul spirit stanzas star sweet thee thine things thou thought thousand Venice verse voice walls waters waves whole wild wind written wrote young youth
Page 47 - 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...
Page 95 - 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?
Page 17 - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
Page 54 - The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Page 14 - THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee ; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming, And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep...
Page 52 - He heard it, but he heeded not - his eyes 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?
Page 44 - There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! XXII.
Page 34 - Deserved to be dearest of all: In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
Page 25 - Oh, God ! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood...
Page 55 - And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight : and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.