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Сторінка 131 - He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore: his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views, At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Сторінка 166 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye. ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within...
Сторінка 168 - It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away.
Сторінка 263 - His heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore (The first who sail'd in air), 'tis sung by Fame, To the Cumaean coast at length he came, And here alighting, built this costly frame. Inscrib'd to Phoebus, here he hung on high The steerage of his wings, that cut the sky: Then, o'er the lofty gate his art emboss'd Androgeos...
Сторінка 168 - 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 garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head ; When the light shines serene but doth not glare, Then in this magic circle raise the dead: Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread.
Сторінка 175 - Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! Shalt thou not last ? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome ! CXLVII.
Сторінка 175 - Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time; Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrants...
Сторінка 402 - Naples, and took place on the water. Never was there a more propitious night for such a festival, for not a breeze ruffled the calm bosom of the beautiful bay, which resembled a vast lake, reflecting on its glassy surface the bright sky above, which was glittering with innumerable stars. Naples, with its white colonnades, seen amidst the dark foliage of its terraced gardens, rose like an amphitheatre from the sea ; and the lights streaming from the buildings on the water, seemed like columns of gold.
Сторінка 204 - Belvidere, leads through a pleasure ground filled with the rarest trees, shrubs, and plants, to the palazzo, which forms three sides of a square, the fourth being an arcade that connects one portion of the building with the other. There is a court-yard and fountain in the centre. A colonnade extends from each side of the front of the palace, supporting a terrace covered with flowers. The windows of the principal salons open on a garden formed on an elevated terrace, surrounded on three sides by a...
Сторінка 403 - ... like the memory of departed happiness. But who is he that guides this beauteous bark ? his tall and slight figure is curved, and his snowy locks, falling over ruddy cheeks, show that age has bent but not broken him : he looks like one born to command — a hoary Neptune, steering over his native element ; — all eyes are fixed, but his follow the glittering barge that precedes him.