The Works of George Byron: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Band 16

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Seite 137 - Not where he eats, but where he is eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet : we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots...
Seite 333 - 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 124 - To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Seite 6 - Leaf,' and Imagination droops her pinion, And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk Turns what was once romantic to burlesque. And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep...
Seite 34 - Thus lived — thus died she ; never more on her Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure till they are laid By age in earth : her days and pleasures were Brief, but delightful — such as had not staid Long with her destiny ; but she sleeps well By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.
Seite 16 - We are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps ; and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason ; and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps.
Seite 179 - I do not know what I may appear to the world ; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
Seite 331 - On ! on ! through meadows, managed like a garden, A paradise of hops and high production ; For, after years of travel by a bard in Countries of greater heat, but lesser suction, A green field is a sight which makes him pardon The absence of that more sublime construction, Which mixes up vines — olives — precipices — Glaciers — volcanoes — oranges and ices.
Seite 69 - Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Of social pleasure, ill exchanged for power ; Seen him, uneumber'd with the venal tribe, Smile without art, and win without a bribe.
Seite 6 - In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays; Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, That life protracted is protracted woe. Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy: In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal...

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