Sicily: A Pilgrimage ...

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G. P. Putnam, 1852 - 187 páginas
 

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Página 117 - Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround; Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Página 70 - And Paul said; I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.
Página 38 - For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity ; Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts : a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean...
Página 147 - Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now ; Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow, Commingling slowly with heroic earth, Broke by the share of every rustic plough : So perish monuments of mortal birth, So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; LXXXVI.
Página 72 - He was fresh and vigorous with rest'; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire; he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the hills gradually rising before him. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise, he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices ; he sometimes contemplated the towering height...
Página 78 - Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Página 68 - Tell me, slaves, Where is your tyrant ? Let me see him now ; Why stands he hence aloof? Where is your master? What is become of Dionysius ? I would behold and laugh at him ! Dionysius.
Página 30 - Blanc ! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again...
Página 68 - I am here upon the scaffold ! look at me : I am standing on my throne: as proud a one As yon illumined mountain, where the sun Makes his last stand; let him look on me too; He never did behold a spectacle More full of natural glory. Death ie — Ha!
Página 45 - Point not these mysteries to an Art Lodged above the starry pole ; Pure modulations flowing from the heart Of divine Love, where Wisdom, Beauty, Truth With Order dwell, in endless youth ? VIII Oblivion may not cover All treasures hoarded by the miser, Time.

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