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" Oh 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. "
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine - Сторінка 223
1818
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt

George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1859 - 329 стор.
...well — upon Soracte's ridgo we part. LXXVH. LXXVIII. Oh Kome ! my country ! city of the soul • The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother...their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance I Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples,...
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The Poetical Works of Lord Byron

George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1859 - 827 стор.
...fare thee well — upon Soracte1» ridge we part LXXVin. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee. Lone mother...their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance 1 Come and sec The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples,...
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The Ladies' Reader: Designed for the Use of Ladies' Schools and Family ...

John William Stanhope Hows - 1860 - 425 стор.
...gasps — Jove help him— so — he's dead!" ROME.- BYRON. O Bome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee — Lone...In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are your woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of...
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ECHOES OF EUROPE; OR, WORD PICTURES OF TRAVEL

R. K. WASHINGTON - 1860
...suddenly seen back into antiquity for twenty-five hundred years. " 0 Rome ! my country ! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother...control In their shut "breasts their petty misery." This city has exercised more influence on the destinies of mankind than any other. All the modern kingdoms...
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Rhetoric and the Study of Literature

Alfred Marshall Hitchcock - 1913 - 410 стор.
...they were present. A stanza in Byron's Childe Harold begins Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother...control In their shut breasts their petty misery. In his Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte occur the lines Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind Who bow'd so...
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Examination Questions in Methods of Teaching and School Management, for ...

Thomas Jefferson McEvoy - 1914 - 142 стор.
...of a scale? CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO THE FOURTH. O Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother...breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and suff ranees? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones...
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With Sabre and Scalpel: The Autobiography of a Soldier and Surgeon

John Allan Wyeth - 1914 - 534 стор.
...youth, when I read and read again in my favorite Childe Harold: Oh, Rome! my country, city of the soul; The orphans of the heart must turn to Thee, Lone Mother of dead Empires! I longed to see the Rome of Byron. When I came away the city of the soul was a phantom city, a mirage,...
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With Sabre and Scalpel: The Autobiography of a Soldier and Surgeon

John Allan Wyeth - 1914 - 534 стор.
...youth, when I read and read again in my favorite Childe Harold: Oh, Rome! my country, city of the soul; The orphans of the heart must turn to Thee, Lone Mother of dead Empires! I longed to see the Rome of Byron. When I came away the city of the soul was a phantom city, a mirage,...
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With Sabre and Scalpel: The Autobiography of a Soldier and Surgeon

John Allan Wyeth - 1914 - 534 стор.
...youth, when I read and read again in my favorite Childe Harold: Oh, Rome! my country, city of the soul; The orphans of the heart must turn to Thee, Lone Mother of dead Empires! I longed to see the Rome of Byron. When I came away the city of the soul was a phantom city, a mirage,...
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The Leading English Poets from Chaucer to Browning: Ed., with Introduction ...

Lucius Hudson Holt - 1915 - 918 стор.
...have been to me 1 CANTO THE FOURTH LXXVIII-CLXXXVI LXXVIII Oh Rome, my country ! city of the soul ! eft — Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left....and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their ! 700 Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. LXXIX The...
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