The works of the rt. hon. lord Byron, Band 8

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Seite 25 - A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown On a fool's head - and there is London Town!
Seite 30 - Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. How little do we know that which we are ! How less what we may be ! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles ; as the old burst, new emerge, Lash'd from the foam of ages ; while the graves Of empires heave but like some passing waves.
Seite 6 - Syne" brings Scotland, one and all, Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills, and clear streams, The Dee, the Don, Balgounie's brig's black wall, All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams Of what I then dreamt, clothed in their own pall, Like Banquo's offspring: — floating past me seems My childhood, in this childishness of mine: I care not — 'tis a glimpse of "Auld Lang Syne.
Seite 8 - And I will war, at least in words (and — should My chance so happen — deeds) with all who war With Thought ;— and of Thought's foes by far most rude Tyrants and sycophants have been and are. I know not who may conquer : if I could Have such a prescience, it should be no bar To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation Of every despotism in every nation.
Seite 20 - Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, join'd By no quite lawful marriage of the arts, Might shock a connoisseur; but when combined, Form'da whole which, irregular in parts, Yet left a grand impression on the mind...
Seite 17 - But Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero My Leipsic, and my Mont Saint Jean seems Cain :
Seite 27 - Is yet within the unread events of time. Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will back Against the same given quantity of rhyme, For being as much the subject of attack As ever yet was any work sublime, By those who love to say that white is black. So much the better ! — I may stand alone, But would not change my free thoughts for a throne.
Seite 18 - The annals of full many a line undone, — The gallant cavaliers, who fought in vain For those who knew not to resign or reign.
Seite 19 - But in the noontide of the moon, and when The wind is winged from one point of heaven, There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then Is musical — a dying accent driven Through the huge arch, which soars and sinks again. Some deem it but the distant echo given Back to the night wind by the waterfall, And harmonized by the old choral wall.
Seite 14 - But beware! beware of the Black Friar He still retains his sway For he is yet the church's heir Whoever may be the lay. Amundeville is lord by day, But the monk is lord by night, Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal To question that friar's right.

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