The complete works of lord Byron, repr. from the last London ed., containing considerable additions; to which is prefixed a life, by H. L. Bulwer, Volume 2

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Page 649 - but they are such liars, And take all colours — like the hands of dyers. LXXXVIII. But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think ; 'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses Instead of speech, may
Page 873 - work like madness in the brain ; But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining— They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder ; A dreary sea now Sows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder Shall wholly do away. I ween. The marks of that which once hath been.
Page 731 - and disputes; I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When 1 read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day, when we shall all of us be contemporaries,
Page 898 - solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. Quando leggemmo il disiato riso Esser baciato da cotanto amante, Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso, La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante: Galeotto fu il libro, e chi lo scrisse— Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante." Mentre che 1' uno spirto questo disse, L'altro piangeva
Page 873 - (2) FARE thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er canst know again
Page 890 - And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the
Page 625 - 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 gnsh'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Page 858 - Ay, but to die, and go," alas ! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was 'Ere born to life and living woe ! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o*er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thon hast been,
Page 882 - As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge, The maid was on the eve of womanhood ; The boy had fewer summers, but his heart Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him; he had
Page 871 - The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where

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