Wanderings of Childe Harolde: A Romance of Real Life : Interspersed with Memoirs of the English Wife, the Foreign Mistress, and Various Other Celebrated Characters, 1. köide

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Sherwood, Jones & Company, 1825
 

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Page 214 - Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him half his Troy was burn'd; But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
Page 182 - Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Page 109 - Tis Nature pictured too severely true. With thee, sweet HOPE! resides the heavenly light, That pours remotest rapture on the sight : Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way, That calls each slumbering passion into play. Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.
Page 198 - One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting...
Page 177 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho lov'd and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Page 23 - Tho' kind and gentle as the dove, As free from guile and art, And mild, and...
Page 12 - With the exception of the dog's tomb, a conspicuous and elegant object, placed on an ascent of several steps, crowned with a lambent flame, and pannelled with white marble tables, of which that containing the celebrated epitaph is the most remarkable, I do not recollect the slightest trace of culture...
Page 127 - For ever constant and true ; But his is like the moon, that wanders up and down, And every month it is new. All you that are in love, and cannot it remove, I pity the pains you endure : For experience makes me know, that your hearts are full o' woe, — A woe that no mortal can cure.
Page 136 - He was perfumed like a milliner, And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose and took't away again; Who therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff...
Page 6 - Childe's mother educated him herself till he was nine years of age, when he was sent to a...

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