The Works of Lord Byron, 6. cilt

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Sayfa 172 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Our virgins dance beneath the shade — I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine— Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
Sayfa 170 - 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?
Sayfa 173 - But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think...
Sayfa 256 - By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks...
Sayfa 171 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! We will not think of themes like these: It made Anacreon's song divine; He served — but served Polycrates — A tyrant: but our masters then Were still at least our countrymen.
Sayfa 425 - 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!
Sayfa 172 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks— They have a king who buys and sells; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells: But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Our virgins dance beneath the shade...
Sayfa 171 - 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?
Sayfa 154 - He was the mildest manner'd man That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat: With such true breeding of a gentleman, You never could divine his real thought; No courtier could, and scarcely woman can Gird more deceit within a petticoat; Pity he loved adventurous life's variety, He was so great a loss to good society.
Sayfa 170 - 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?

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