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" 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? "
Annual Report - Page 9
1894
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The Beauties of Byron,: Consisting of Selections from His Works

George Gordon Byron Baron Byron, Alfred Howard - 1824 - 226 pages
...nations ; — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set where were they ? And where are they ! and where art thou, My country...— The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyie, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though...
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The Oxford entertaining miscellany, or, weekly magazine

1824 - 56 pages
...nations ; — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — ' Aud when the bun set where were they? And where are they ! and where art thou, My country...shore The heroic lay is tuneless now— The heroic boiom beats no more ! And nnisi the lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ! Tic something...
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The Oxford Entertaining Miscellany, Or, Weekly Magazine ..., Volume 1

1824 - 312 pages
...were his t He counted Iherti at break of day — And when the SUB set where, were they? And where arc they ! and where art thou, My country ? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuueless now— The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must the lyre, BO long- divine, ^Degenerate into...
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The complete works of lord Byron with a biogr. and critical ..., Volumes 1-2

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1825 - 906 pages
...ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations; all were his ! He counted them at break of day— And where are they? and where art thou, My country?...lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'T is something in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's...
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Memoirs of the life and writings of lord Byron

George Clinton (biographer of Byron.) - 1825 - 824 pages
...were they ? And where are they ? and where art Hmn, My country ? On thy voiceless shore The ln.roic lay is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no...lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? "I'is something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's...
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The Stanley tales, original and select, Volumes 1-3

Ambrose Marten - 1826 - 930 pages
...and the lofty eloquence of our own Plato himself, and who is a Greek in feeling, if not in country, And where are they ? And where art thou, My country?...lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! Must "we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled ! Earth 1 render back...
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The Works of Lord Byron: Complete in One Volume

George Gordon Noėl Byron - 1826 - 804 pages
...nations; — all were his! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set where were they? s t L~M~ k | | }B| | h @k ~ beaU no more ! , And must thy lyre, no long dh ine, Degenerate into hands like mine? Tig something,...
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An Illustration of the Principles of Elocution ...

William Brittainham Lacey - Elocution - 1828 - 308 pages
...nations ; all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they ? And where are they ? and where art thou, My country...lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race. To feel at least a patriot's...
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Specimens of the Lyrical, Descriptive, and Narrative Poets of Great Britain ...

John Johnstone (of Edinburgh.) - English poetry - 1828 - 600 pages
...by thousands, lay below, And men and nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And where are they ? and where art thou, My country...lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? • * * « Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled. Earth !...
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The Poetical Melange

English poetry - 1828 - 816 pages
...nations ; all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set where were they ? And where are they ? and where art thou, My country...lyre, so. long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race, For what is left the poet...
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