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acquaintance addressed admiration afterwards Albanian answer appears arrived beautiful believe Bologna called Canto character Childe Harold copy dear Edinburgh Review England English fame favour feel Galignani genius gentleman Giaour Gifford give Greece Guiccioli hear heard heart Hobhouse honour hope Italian Italy kind Lady late least less letter lines living look Lord Byron Lord Holland Madame Madame de Staël Malta Marino Faliero mean mind MOORE Morea morning MURRAY nature never Newstead Newstead Abbey night noble once opinion passage passion perhaps person Pisa poem poet poetical poetry Pope Pray present published racter Ravenna received recollect Rochdale Satire seen sent spirit stanzas suppose sure tell thee thing thou thought tion told Venice verses whole wish word write written wrote young
Page 255 - So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, 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 moon.
Page 16 - When I was yet a child, no childish play To me was pleasing ; all my mind was set Serious to learn and know, and thence to do What might be public good; myself I thought Born to that end, born to promote all truth, All righteous things...
Page 277 - With regard to poetry in general, I am convinced, the more I think of it, that he and all of us — Scott, Southey, Wordsworth, Moore, Campbell, I, — are all in the wrong, one as much as another; that we are upon a wrong revolutionary poetical system, or systems, not worth a damn in itself, and from which none but Rogers and Crabbe are free; and that the present and next generations will finally be of this opinion.
Page 301 - Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens : And, toil'd with works of war, retired himself To Italy ; and there at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Page 236 - He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill : At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy — for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.
Page 417 - Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numbering Thy years of joy and sorrow. " Thou art gone ; And he who would assail thee in thy grave, Oh, let him pause ! For who among us all, Tried as thou wert — even from thine earliest years, When wandering, yet unspoilt, a...
Page 420 - Indisputably, the firm believers in the Gospel have a great advantage over all others, — for this simple reason, that if true, they will have their reward hereafter ; and if there be no hereafter, they can be but with the infidel in his eternal sleep, having had the assistance of an exalted hope, through life, without subsequent disappointment, since (at the worst for them) out of nothing, nothing can arise, not even sorrow.
Page 426 - As to poor Shelley, who is another bugbear to you and the world, he is, to my knowledge, the least selfish and the mildest of men — a man who has made more sacrifices of his fortune and feelings for others than any I ever heard of.
Page 241 - If my inheritance of storms hath been In other elements - and on the rocks Of perils overlooked or unforeseen I have sustained my share of worldly shocks The fault was mine - nor do I seek to screen My errors with defensive paradox I have been cunning in mine overthrow The careful pilot of my proper woe.