Читать книгу Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (With Byron's Biography) - Lord Byron - Страница 104

Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine,

Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies.

He stops—he starts—disdaining to decline:

Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries,

Without a groan, without a struggle dies.

The decorated car appears—on high

The corse is piled—sweet sight for vulgar eyes—de94 Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.