Читать книгу Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (With Byron's Biography) - Lord Byron - Страница 205

Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail;153 Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye:154 Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie, Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, And woods along the banks are waving high, Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Or with the moonbeam sleep in Midnight's solemn trance.