The works of lord Byron, Volume 3

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Page 10 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, The first, last look by death reveal'd...
Page 38 - But first, on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be 'rent : Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race : There, from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life ; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse : Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.
Page 158 - There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled, and Mercy sigh'd farewell!
Page 10 - As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power; So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, The first, last look by death reveal'd ! '-V Such is the aspect of this shore ; 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more ! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there.
Page 150 - Oh, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious slave ! " Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; " Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease !
Page 79 - Gul in her bloom ; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute, Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In color though varied, in beauty may vie...
Page 24 - Tis left to fly or fall alone. With wounded wing or bleeding breast, Ah! where shall either victim rest? Can this with faded pinion soar From rose to tulip as before? Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, Find joy within her broken bower?
Page 128 - A single rose is shedding there Its lonely lustre, meek and pale : It looks as planted by Despair — So white — so faint — the slightest gale Might whirl the leaves on high; And yet, though storms and blight assail. And hands more rude than wintry sky May wring it from the stem — in vain...
Page 24 - Gives but one pang, and cures all pain, And darts into her desperate brain. — So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;* So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven, Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death!
Page 80 - Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

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