Poetical Works, 2–4. köideHoughton, Mifflin and Company, 1881 |
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Page viii
... Sonnets from the Greek of Moschus 315 Sonnet from the Italian of Dante 317 Scenes from the Magico Prodigioso of Calderon Scenes from the Faust of Goethe . 318 • 352 CEDIPUS TYRANNUS ; OR , SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT . A viii CONTENTS .
... Sonnets from the Greek of Moschus 315 Sonnet from the Italian of Dante 317 Scenes from the Magico Prodigioso of Calderon Scenes from the Faust of Goethe . 318 • 352 CEDIPUS TYRANNUS ; OR , SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT . A viii CONTENTS .
Page 58
... Italian ; Ariosto , Tasso , and Alfieri . In French , the Rêveries d'un Solitaire of Rousseau . To these may be added several modern books of travels . He read few novels . SPOEMS WRITTEN IN 1816 . THE SUNSET . THERE late 58 EDITOR'S ...
... Italian ; Ariosto , Tasso , and Alfieri . In French , the Rêveries d'un Solitaire of Rousseau . To these may be added several modern books of travels . He read few novels . SPOEMS WRITTEN IN 1816 . THE SUNSET . THERE late 58 EDITOR'S ...
Page 104
... Italy , was written after a day's excursion among those lovely mountains which sur- round what was once the retreat ... Italian sunrise in autumn , on the highest peak of those delightful mountains , I can only offer as my excuse , that ...
... Italy , was written after a day's excursion among those lovely mountains which sur- round what was once the retreat ... Italian sunrise in autumn , on the highest peak of those delightful mountains , I can only offer as my excuse , that ...
Page 105
... at this lone hour Will be but ill requited If thou depart in scorn : O ! come , And talk of our abandoned home . Remember , this is Italy , And we are exiles . Talk with me Of that our land , whose wilds and floods Barren.
... at this lone hour Will be but ill requited If thou depart in scorn : O ! come , And talk of our abandoned home . Remember , this is Italy , And we are exiles . Talk with me Of that our land , whose wilds and floods Barren.
Page 126
... Italian winds are mild , But my bosom is cold - wintry cold . When the warm air weaves , among the fresh leaves , Soft music , my poor brain is wild , And I am weak like a nursling child , Though my soul with grief is gray and old ...
... Italian winds are mild , But my bosom is cold - wintry cold . When the warm air weaves , among the fresh leaves , Soft music , my poor brain is wild , And I am weak like a nursling child , Though my soul with grief is gray and old ...
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Common terms and phrases
Adonais ANTISTROPHE Apennine art thou Bay of Spezia beast beautiful beneath blood boat brain breath bright burning calm cave cavern chidden child CHORUS clouds cold cradle CYCLOPS DÆMON dark dead dear death deep delight divine dream earth eternal eyes faint fear fire flame flame transformed fled flowers folded palm gentle golden grave gray green grew grief hair heart heaven Hermes hope immortal Iona kiss lady leaves LEIGH HUNT Lerici light lips living MAMMON mighty mind moon mortal mountains never night o'er ocean odour Onchestus pale Peter Bell Pisa poem PURGANAX rain round SEMICHORUS Serchio shadow Shelley shore SILENUS sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit stars strange stream sweet SWELLFOOT swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought truth ULYSSES veil voice wake wandering waves weep Whilst wild wind wings woods
Popular passages
Page 320 - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 279 - If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable!
Page 92 - He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead ; Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. Dust to the dust, but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.
Page 328 - Yet if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then — as I am listening now.
Page 320 - The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Page 96 - Go thou to Rome, — at once the Paradise, The grave, the city, and the wilderness ; And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress The bones of Desolation's nakedness Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead, A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread.
Page 319 - PHILOSOPHY THE fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?
Page 167 - Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute : — No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell.
Page 167 - O Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.
Page 322 - May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The Stars peep behind her and peer. And I laugh to see them whirl and flee Like a swarm of golden bees When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,— Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high Are each paved with the moon and these.