On the Rivieras, and in Piedmont and Lombardy

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G. Routledge & sons, 1876
 

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Page 299 - Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do. with their death, bury their parents
Page 233 - Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head. 700 Then Sculpture and her sister-arts revive : Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live ; With sweeter notes each rising Temple rung ; A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung. Immortal Vida : on whose honour'd brow The Poet's bays and Critic's ivy grow : Cremona now shall ever boast thy name, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame...
Page 110 - Of the southern tower the upper part must have been rebuilt at the end of the twelfth or beginning of the thirteenth century, but with a certain adaptation to the earlier work, the mid-wall shaft being still used.
Page 99 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones...
Page 99 - O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant ; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
Page 356 - For he hath regarded : the lowliness of his handmaiden. For behold from henceforth : all generations shall call me blessed. For he that is mighty hath magnified me : and holy is his Name.
Page 255 - Bithynos liquisse campos et videre te in tuto ! o quid solutis est beatius curis ? cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino labore fessi venimus larem ad nostrum desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. hoc est, quod unum est pro laboribus tantis.
Page 99 - When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not : in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills and they To heaven.
Page 196 - Sublime, but neither bleak nor bare Nor misty, are the mountains there, — Softly sublime, profusely fair ! Up to their summits clothed in green And fruitful as the vales between They lightly rise And scale the skies, And groves and gardens still abound, For where no shoot Could else take root The peaks are shelved and terraced round...
Page 365 - Tis solitude should teach us how to die ; It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give No hollow aid ; alone — man with his God must strive : XXXIV.

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