A Handbook for Travellers in Central Italy ...With a Travelling Map (Google eBook)

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1853 - Italy
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Page 131 - And put it to the foil : but you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best.
Page 258 - 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.
Page 253 - And on thy happy shore a temple still. Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Upon a mild declivity of hill, Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps The finny darter with the glittering scales, Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales.
Page 104 - Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso : Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. Quando leggemmo il disiato riso Esser baciato da cotanto amante, Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso, La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante. Galeotto fu il libro, e chi lo scrisse : Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante. Mentre che F uno spirto questo disse, L' altro piangeva sì, che di pietade Io venni men, così com' io morisse, E caddi come corpo morto cade.
Page 267 - Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow. Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.
Page 267 - 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. 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.
Page 94 - Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude Of the pine forest, and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood, Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er, To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, Evergreen forest!
Page 258 - 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...
Page 258 - Is an eternal April to the ground, Making it all one emerald : — how profound The gulf! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent. To the broad column which rolls on, and shows More like the fountain of an infant sea Tom from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world...
Page ii - England of foreign pirated Editions of the works of British authors, in which the copyright subsists, is totally prohibited. Travellers will therefore bear in mind that even a single copy is contraband, and is liable to seizure at the English Custom-house. CAUTION то INNKEEPERS AND OTHERS.

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