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acquaintance admiration affection appearance beautiful believe born Byron called character Charles Coast conversation Count D'Orsay daughter dear dear Lady death delighted died Duke early England English expression father feel give given Gore House hand happy hear heart honor hope House interest Ireland Italy John kind known Lady Blessington late leave letter lines literary living London look Lord Lord John Russell Maclean manner March married mind Miss morning nature never night occasion opinion Paris party passed period person pleasure political poor present published received regard remarkable respect seen sent sincere society success talents taste tell thank thing thought volume vous wish write written young
Page 564 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
Page 386 - After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Page 564 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
Page 563 - I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown...
Page 558 - I will be wise, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.
Page 564 - Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround — Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; — To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Page 14 - The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument...
Page 83 - Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit! rest thee now ! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath ! Soul, to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.