The Tourist in Italy, Volume 1

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proprietors, 1831 - 271 páginas

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Página 205 - All murder'd ; for within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable...
Página 180 - But, at the distance of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express the strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and entered the eternal city. After a sleepless night, I trod, with a lofty step, the ruins of the Forum ; each memorable spot where Romulus stood, or Tully spoke, or Csesar fell, was at once present to my eye ; and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed before I could descend to a cool and minute investigation.
Página 2 - Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, Although I found her thus, we did not part, Perchance even dearer in her day of woe Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show.
Página 154 - But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone — with nothing like to thee — Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be, Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
Página 77 - In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier ; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear : Those days are gone — but beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy...
Página 58 - A few in fear, Flying away from him whose boast it was,* That the grass grew not where his horse had trod, Gave birth to VENICE. Like the water-fowl, They built their nests among the...
Página 81 - Sweet hour of twilight! — in the solitude Of the pine forest, and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood, Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er, To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, Evergreen forest!
Página 205 - As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable, and, humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king ! Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while : 1 live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king?
Página 18 - The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns—- An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt The sunshine for awhile, and downward go Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt ; Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo ! Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe.
Página 154 - Thou movest, but increasing with the advance, Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonise — All musical in its immensities; Rich marbles, richer painting— shrines where flame The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame Sits on the firm-set ground, and this the clouds must claim.

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