The Tourist in Italy, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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R. Jennings and W. Chaplin, 1831 - Engraving - 271 pages
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Page 190 - All murder'd ; for within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable...
Page 76 - 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, 18 The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy...
Page 2 - Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, Although I found her thus, we did not part, Perchance even dearer in her day of woe Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show.
Page 20 - Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; But is not Doria's menace come to pass ? Are they not bridled?
Page 144 - But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone — with nothing like to thee — Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be, Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
Page 170 - After a sleepless night, I trod, with a lofty step, the ruins of the Forum ; each memorable spot where Romulus stood, or Tully spoke, or Caesar fell, was at once present to my eye ; and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed before I could descend to a cool and minute investigation.
Page 77 - 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 190 - As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable, and, humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king ! Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence : throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while : 1 live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king?
Page 144 - Thou movest, but increasing with the advance, Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonise — All musical in its immensities; Rich marbles, richer painting— shrines where flame The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame Sits on the firm-set ground, and this the clouds must claim.
Page 144 - Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.

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