Letters from Europe and the East during the years 1859 and 1860 ... (Google eBook)

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G. A. Whitehorne, 1860 - Europe - 137 pages
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Page 43 - 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 her...
Page 57 - Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where, Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ? Gone glimmering through the dream of things that were...
Page 37 - There is a glorious city in the sea; The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing; and the salt seaweed Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, Lead to her gates! The path lies o'er the sea, Invisible: and from the land we went, As to a floating city steering in, And gliding up her streets, as in a...
Page 82 - OH ! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream : Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ; Mourn where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!
Page 43 - Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers...
Page 95 - ... face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse : And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till 'tis gone and all is gray.
Page 37 - THERE is a glorious City in the Sea. The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing ; and the salt sea-weed Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the Sea, Invisible ; and from the land we went, As to a floating City steering in, And gliding up her streets as in a dream...
Page 95 - Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar Comes down upon the waters, all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse ; And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till 'tis gone and all is gray.
Page 57 - They won, and pass'd away is this the whole ? A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour ! The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Page 83 - No martial myriads muster in thy gate ; No suppliant nations in thy Temple wait ; No prophet bards, thy glittering courts among, Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song : But lawless force, and meagre want are there, And the quick-darting eye of restless fear, While cold oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid, Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy shade.

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