The Seven Hills

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Lee and Shepard, 1873 - 331 стор.
 

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Сторінка 289 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his droop'd head sinks gradually low— And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won.
Сторінка 80 - Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome, Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands ; the moonbeams shine As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here, to illume This long-explored but still exhaustless mine Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume...
Сторінка 279 - Or, turning to the Vatican, go see Laocoon's torture dignifying pain — A father's love and mortal's agony With an immortal's patience blending : — vain The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, The old man's clench ; the long envenom'd chain Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp.
Сторінка 280 - Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and light — The Sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity.
Сторінка 14 - 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.
Сторінка 80 - It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away.
Сторінка 267 - Strike — till the last armed foe expires; Strike — for your altars and your fires; Strike — for the green graves of your sires; God — and your native land!
Сторінка 289 - He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother— he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday— All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged?
Сторінка 66 - Where the car climbed the Capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say,
Сторінка 80 - But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The...

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