Handbook for Travellers in Central Italy ...

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Page 258 - The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, LXX.
Page 258 - Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than only thus to be Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, With many windings, through the vale : — Look back ! Lo ! where it comes like an eternity, As if to sweep down all things in its track, Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract, " Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, Like Hope upon a deathbed, and unworn Its steady dyes,...
Page 267 - 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.
Page 267 - Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? B.ise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! LXXX.
Page 258 - With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, Is an eternal April to the ground, Making it all one emerald : — how profound The gulf! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent. To the broad column which rolls on, and shows More like the fountain of an infant sea Tom from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world...
Page 131 - And put it to the foil : but you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best.
Page 267 - Oh 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.
Page 253 - But thou, Clitumnus ! in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them...
Page 94 - raising our eyes to heaven, or directing them to the earth, can we doubt of the existence of God ? — or how, turning them to what is within us, can we doubt that there is something...
Page 94 - 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...

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