The Idler in Italy, Том 2

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Сторінка 22 - 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 49 - It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away.
Сторінка 117 - 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 49 - 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...
Сторінка 54 - 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 223 - This illuminated barge is followed by another, with a silken canopy overhead, and the curtains drawn back to admit the balmy air. Cleopatra, when she sailed down the Cydnus, boasted not a more beautiful vessel; and, as it glides over the sea, it seems impelled by the music that precedes it, so perfectly does it keep time to its enchanting sounds, leaving a bright trace behind, like the memory of departed happiness. But who is he that guides this beauteous bark? his tall and slight figure is curved,...
Сторінка 47 - 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.
Сторінка 54 - 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!
Сторінка 222 - It is evening, and scarcely a breeze ruffles the calm bosom of the beautiful bay, which resembles a vast lake, reflecting on its glassy surface the bright sky above, and the thousand stars with which it is studded. Naples, with its white colonnades seen amidst the dark foliage of its terraced gardens, rises like an amphitheatre : lights stream from the windows and fall on the sea beneath like columns of gold. The castle of St. Elmo...
Сторінка 310 - ... the peculiarities that distinguish him from them, as well as from the common herd of men. These peculiarities consist in a fearless and uncompromising expression of his thoughts, incompatible with a mundane policy; the practice of a profuse generosity towards the unfortunate; a simplicity in his own mode of life, in which the indulgence of selfish gratifications is rigidly excluded ; and a sternness of mind, and a tenderness of heart, that would lead him to brave a tyrant on his throne, or to...

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