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Antonia Ave Maria Baba beautiful blood boat Bosphorus breast breath Cadiz call'd CANTO charming chaste cheek dead death deep devil Don Alfonso DON JUAN Donna Inez doubt e'er earth eyes face fair fame father's feelings gazed giaour gold grew gun barrel Haidee half hand heart heaven Hellespont hope hour human clay Juan's Julia kiss knew lady least leave lips look look'd LORD BYRON lover maid mistress moral mother Muse ne'er never night Noah's ark o'er ocean pair pale Parnassian pass'd passion perhaps poets pray renegado rhymes round Samian wine Sappho scarce seem'd sherbet shore sigh sing sire slave sleep smile song soul Spain stanza stood strange sung tears tell There's things third sex thou thought Tis sweet true turn'd Twas twere waves Whate'er wife wind wine words young youth
Page 50 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved 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 104 - Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence ; man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart ; Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange ; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone.
Page 52 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
Page 54 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one? You have the letters Cadmus gave, — Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Page 53 - Must we but blush? Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae ! What, silent still? and silent all? Ah ! no : the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head, But one arise, — we come, we come ! " 'Tis but the living who are dumb.
Page 66 - Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay.
Page 212 - Man, being reasonable, must get drunk ; The best of life is but intoxication : Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk The hopes of all men, and of every nation ; Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion : But to return, — Get very drunk ; and when You wake with headache, you shall see what then.
Page 7 - I want a hero: an uncommon want, When every year and month sends forth a new one, Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The age discovers he is not the true one: Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan — We all have seen him, in the Pantomime Sent to the devil, somewhat ere his time.
Page 149 - Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell — Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die.