The Tourist in Italy, Volume 1

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R. Jennings and W. Chaplin, 1831 - 271 páginas

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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 207 - 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, and humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
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 Caesar 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 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 102 - In that temple-porch (The brass is gone, the porphyry remains,) Did BARBAROSSA fling his mantle off, And, kneeling, on his neck receive the foot Of the proud Pontiff — thus at last consoled For flight, disguise, and many an aguish shake On his stone pillow.
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 207 - 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 : I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king ? Car.
Página 16 - Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; But is not Doria's menace come to pass ? Are they not bridled...
Página 185 - Now all is changed ; and here, as in the wild, The day is silent, dreary as the night ; None stirring, save the herdsman and his herd, Savage alike ; or they that would explore, Discuss and learnedly ; or they that come (And there are many who have crossed the earth) That they may give the hours to meditation, And wander, often saying to themselves, " This was the ROMAN FORUM I " A FUNERAL. " WHENCE this delay 1 " — " Along the crowded street A funeral comes, and with unusual pomp.
Página 154 - 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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