Mémoires, Volume 4

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Page 285 - My sister ! my sweet sister ! if a name Dearer and purer were, it should be thine ; Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim No tears, but tenderness to answer mine : Go where I will, to me thou art the same — • A loved regret which I would not resign. There yet are two things in my destiny, — A world to roam through, and a home with thee.
Page 225 - Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine The works thou deemest most divine — The " Art of Cookery," and mine, My Murray. Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist, And Sermons to thy mill bring grist ; And then thou hast the " Navy List," My Murray. And Heaven forbid I should conclude Without " the Board of Longitude," Although this narrow paper would, My Murray ! Venice, March 25.
Page 179 - Tis to thee that I would drink. With that water, as this wine, The libation I would pour Should be — peace with thine and mine, And a health to thee, Tom Moore.
Page 178 - Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate ; And whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. Though the ocean roar around me, Yet it still shall bear me on ; Though a desert should surround me, It hath springs that may be won.
Page 289 - And for the future, this world's future may From me demand but little of my care; I have outlived myself by many a day ; Having survived so many things that were; My years have been no slumber, but the prey...
Page 288 - The world is all before me ; I but ask Of Nature that with which she will comply — It is but in her summer's sun to bask, To mingle with the quiet of her sky, To see her gentle face without a mask, And never gaze on it with apathy.
Page 286 - The fault was mine ; nor do I seek to screen My errors with defensive paradox ; I have been cunning in mine overthrow, The careful pilot of my proper woe.
Page 113 - So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.
Page 288 - I did remind thee of our own dear Lake, By the old Hall which may be mine no more. Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore; Sad havoc Time must with my memory make, Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before; Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Resign'd for ever, or divided far.
Page 73 - Ce fut pendant l'automne de 1816 que je le rencontrai au théâtre de la Scala, à Milan, dans la loge de M. Louis de Brème. Je fus frappé des yeux de lord Byron au moment où il écoutait un sestetto d'un opéra de Mayer, intitulé Elena. Je n'ai vu de ma vie rien de plus beau ni de plus expressif. Encore aujourd'hui, si je viens à penser à l'expression qu'un grand peintre devrait donner au génie, cette tête sublime reparaît tout-à-coup devant moi.

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