The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, Volume 8

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Page 364 - I will not undertake to maintain, against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages, and of all nations. There is no people, rude or learned, among whom apparitions of the dead are not related and believed. This opinion, which...
Page 312 - She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew, As seeking not to know it; silent, lone, As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, And kept her heart serene within its zone. There was awe in the homage which she drew; Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throne Apart from the surrounding world, and strong In its own strength- most strange in one so young...
Page 325 - 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.
Page 45 - They accuse me — Me — the present writer of The present poem — of— I know not what — A tendency to underrate and scoff At human power and virtue, and all that : And this they say in language rather rough. Good God ! I wonder what they would be at ! I say no more than hath been said in Dante's Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes ; IV.
Page 296 - Tis strange, — but true ; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction : if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange ! How differently the world would men behold ! How oft would vice and virtue places change ! The new world would be nothing to the old, If some Columbus of the moral seas Would show mankind their souls
Page 91 - And tall, and strong, and swift of foot, were they, Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions, Because their thoughts had never been the prey Of care or gain...
Page 179 - there was no matter," And proved it — 'twas no matter what he said: They say his system 'tis in vain to batter, Too subtle for the airiest human head; And yet who can believe it? I would shatter Gladly all matters, down to stone or lead, Or adamant, to find the world a spirit, And wear my head, denying that I wear it.
Page 170 - As Machiavel shows those in purple raiment, Such is the shortest way to general curses. They hate a murderer much less than a claimant On that sweet ore which everybody nurses. — Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches
Page 219 - That till we see what's what in fact, we 're far From much improvement with that virtuous plough Which skims the surface, leaving scarce a scar Upon the black loam long manured by Vice, Only to keep its corn at the old price.
Page 76 - And such they are — and such they will be found: Not so Leonidas and Washington, Whose every battle-field is holy ground, Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone. How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound ! While the mere victor's may appal or stun The servile and the vain, such names will be A watchword till the future shall be free.

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