A Month in France and Switzerland, During the Autumn of 1824

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1825 - 304 pages
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Page 94 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Page 20 - Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of Life, and Poesy, and Light — The Sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; The shaft hath just been shot— the arrow bright With an Immortal's vengeance— in his eye And nostril beautiful Disdain, and Might And Majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity.
Page 235 - Adieu, poor luckless maiden ! — Imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds ; — the Being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up for ever.
Page 234 - together." Maria put her arm within mine, and lengthening the string, to let the dog follow — in that order we entered Moulines.
Page 120 - So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, That God alone was to be seen in heaven.
Page 65 - At intervals, some bird from out the brakes, Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love...
Page 234 - I'll dry it in my bosom, said she 'twill do me good. And is your heart still so warm, Maria? said I. I touched upon the string on which hung all her sorrows she looked with wistful disorder for some time in my face; and then, without saying anything, took her pipe, and played her service to the Virgin The string I had touched ceased to vibrate in a moment or two Maria returned to herself let her pipe fall and rose up. And where are you going, Maria?
Page 89 - ... whirlwind is less powerful than the silence of the dew. It has ransacked history and learned that the banner and the sword were never yet the symbols of man's grandest victories, and it begins at last to listen to the voice of that inspired philosophy, which through all ages has been gently saying: 'The race is not always to the swift, neither the battle to the strong.

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