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afterwards appeared asked beautiful believe Cain called Canto cause character Childe Harold continued death Don Juan England English expressed eyes feelings gave give Greece hand heard heart hope hour idea Italian Italy kind knew Lady Byron least leave length letter Lewis lines live look Lord Byron lost Madame de Stael manner married mean mind Moore Murray nature never night once opinion original party passed perhaps person play poem poet poetry present PRINTED prove published reason remember replied rest Reviewers seems sent Shelley shew soon speak spirits stage Stanza story suppose taken talk tell thing thought tion told took translation turned Venice Walter wanted wish woman write written wrote young
Page 146 - He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him ; nor below Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife...
Page 157 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 118 - The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
Page 251 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Page 156 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And -we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 158 - We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Page 116 - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.