Italian Highways

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R. Bentley and son, 1896 - 435 pages
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Page 405 - The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, And vesper bell's that rose the boughs along...
Page 238 - For there is no remembrance of the wise more than of the fool for ever ; seeing that which now is in the days to come shall all be forgotten. And how dieth the wise man ? as the fool.
Page 432 - And, when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left, Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory, images and precious thoughts, That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
Page 365 - And if you can be pleased with this, you can see Florence. But if not, by all means amuse yourself there, if you find it amusing, as long as you like ; you can never see it.
Page 389 - Italians do in the pleasantest vallies of the world. Nothing, indeed, can be a greater instance of the natural love that mankind has for liberty, and of their aversion to an arbitrary government, than such a savage mountain covered with people, and the Campania of Rome, which lies in the same country, almost destitute of inhabitants.* PESARO, FANO, SENIGALLIA, ANCONA, LORETTO, &c.
Page 422 - He roved among the vales and streams, In the green wood and hollow dell ; They were his dwellings night and day, — But Nature ne'er could find the way Into the heart of Peter Bell...
Page 236 - What shall it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
Page 224 - On the heights above Baccano the postillions stopped, and pointing to a pinnacle that appeared between two hills, exclaimed — " Roma !" — that pinnacle was the cross of St. Peter's.— The
Page 250 - Amen, he lotteth the candle fall; when as the people will scramble for it, and euery one catch a little peece if they can; yea, our English men will be as busie as the best, and one of them chaunced to get a peece of the waxe of the candle, whereof he made such a bragging when he came to the colledge, as you...
Page 405 - 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...

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