Poems

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Ticknor and Fields, 1854 - 189 pagine
 

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Pagina 128 - I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be a good man — be virtuous — be religious — be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here.
Pagina 47 - ON A BUST OF DANTE. SEE, from this counterfeit of him Whom Arno shall remember long, How stern of lineament, how grim, The father was of Tuscan song. There but the burning sense of wrong, Perpetual care and scorn, abide ; Small friendship for the lordly throng ; Distrust of all the world beside. Faithful if this wan image be, No dream his life was — but a fight ; Could any Beatrice see A lover in that anchorite...
Pagina 119 - Lui folgorante in solio vide il mio genio e tacque; quando, con vece assidua cadde, risorse e giacque, di mille voci al sonito mista la sua non ha...
Pagina 123 - E sparve, ei dì nell'ozio chiuse in sì breve sponda, segno d'immensa invidia e di pietà profonda, d'inestinguibil odio e d'indomato amor. Come sul capo al naufrago l'onda s'avvolve e pesa, l'onda su cui del misero, alta pur dianzi e tesa, scorrea la vista a scernere prode remote invan; tal su quell'alma il cumulo delle memorie scese!
Pagina 119 - Ei fu; siccome immobile Dato il mortal sospiro Stette la spoglia immemore Orba di tanto spiro , Così percossa, attonita La terra al nunzio sta ; Muta pensando all'ultima Ora dell' uom fatale , Né sa quando una simile Orma di pie mortale La sua cruenta polvere A calpestar verrà.
Pagina 49 - War to the last he waged with all The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; Baron and duke, in hold and hall, Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth ; He used Rome's harlot for his mirth ; Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime ; But valiant souls of knightly worth Transmitted to the rolls of time. 0 Time ! whose verdicts mock our own, The only righteous judge art thou ; That poor, old exile, sad and lone, Is Latium's other Virgil now.
Pagina 48 - The scourge of many a guilty line. War to the last he waged with all The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; Baron and duke, in hold and hall, Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth; He used Rome's harlot for his mirth ; Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime ; But valiant souls of knightly worth Transmitted to the rolls of Time.
Pagina 128 - Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It was a beautiful day — so warm that every window was wide open— and so perfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes.
Pagina 128 - Nicolson came into my room, and told me that his master had awoke in a state of composure and consciousness, and wished to see me immediately. I found him entirely himself, though in the last extreme of feebleness. His eye was clear and calm — every trace of the wild fire of delirium extinguished. " Loekhart," he said, "I may have but a minute to speak to you.
Pagina 151 - Like the smeil of the vine, when its early bloom Sprinkles the green lane with sunny perfume, Such a delicate fragrance filled the room : Whether it came from the vine without, Or arose from her presence, I dwell in doubt. Light shadows played on the pictured wall From the maples that fluttered outside the hall, And hindered the daylight — yet, ah...

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