|
| John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919. |
| Page 540 |
| George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron. (1788–1824) (continued) |
| 5578 |
| Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue’s name, let Crabbe attest,— Though Nature’s sternest painter, yet the best. |
| English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 839. |
| 5579 |
| Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart! |
| Maid of Athens. |
| 5580 |
| Had sigh’d to many, though he loved but one. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 5. |
| 5581 |
| If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 7. |
| 5582 |
| Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 9. |
| 5583 |
| Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 10. |
| 5584 |
| Might shake the saintship of an anchorite. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 11. |
| 5585 |
| Adieu! adieu! my native shore Fades o’er the waters blue. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 13. |
| 5586 |
| My native land, good night! |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 13. |
| 5587 |
| O Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 15. |
| 5588 |
| In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 20. |
| 5589 |
| By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there. |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 40. |
| 5590 |
| Still from the fount of joy’s delicious springs Some bitter o’er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. 1 |
| Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto i. Stanza 82. |
| Note 1. Medio de fonte leporum Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat (In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers).—Lucretius: iv. 1133. [back] |
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