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John Bartlett (1820–1905).  Familiar Quotations, 10th ed.  1919.
 
Page 545
 
 
George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron. (1788–1824) (continued)
 
5640
    Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo,
The octogenarian chief, Byzantium’s conquering foe! 1
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 12.
5641
    There are some feelings time cannot benumb,
Nor torture shake.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 19.
5642
    Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 23.
5643
    The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew,
The mourn’d, the loved, the lost,—too many, yet how few!
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 24.
5644
    Parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,
The last still loveliest, till—’t is gone, and all is gray.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 29.
5645
    The Ariosto of the North.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 40.
5646
    Italia! O Italia! thou who hast
The fatal gift of beauty. 2
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 42.
5647
    Fills
The air around with beauty.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 49.
5648
    Let these describe the undescribable.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 53.
5649
    The starry Galileo with his woes.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 54.
5650
    Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar,
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 57.
5651
    The poetry of speech.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 58.
5652
    The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss,
And boil in endless torture.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 69.
5653
    Then farewell Horace, whom I hated so,—
Not for thy faults, but mine.
          Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 77.
 
Note 1.
See Wordsworth, Quotation 93. [back]
Note 2.
A translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja: “Italia, Italia! O tu cui feo la sorte.” [back]
 

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