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Сторінка 8 - ... tis to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. LXIX. The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, LXX.
Сторінка 8 - To the broad column which rolls on, and shows More like the fountain of an infant sea Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than only thus to be Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, With many windings, through the vale :— Look back! Lo ! where it comes like an eternity, As if to sweep down all things in its track, Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract...
Сторінка 213 - In veder che ora innonorato resti ! Prezioso diaspro, agata, ed oro Foran debito fregio e appena degno Di rivestir si nobile tesoro. Ma no ; tomba fregiar d' uom eh' ebbe regno Vuoisi, e por gemme ove disdice alloro : Qui basta il nome di quel Divo Ingegno.
Сторінка 174 - No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never!
Сторінка 125 - 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 ! But unto us she hath a spell beyond Her name in story, and her long array Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond Above the Dogeless city's vanished sway : Ours is a trophy which will not decay With the Rialto ; Shylock and the Moor, And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away, — The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er, For us repeopled were the...
Сторінка 124 - I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand...
Сторінка 124 - 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!
Сторінка 124 - STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me. and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times when many a subject land Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles ! II.