Italy: A Poem

Forsideomslag
E. Moxon, 1852 - 327 sider
 

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Side 51 - Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the sea, Invisible; and from the land we went, As to a floating city, — steering in, And gliding up her streets as in a dream, So smoothly, silently, — by many a dome, Mosque-like, and many a stately portico, The statues ranged along an azure sky; By many a pile in more than Eastern pride, Of old the residence of merchant-kings; The fronts of some, though time had shattered them,...
Side 98 - The joy, the pride of an indulgent Sire. Her Mother dying of the gift she gave, That precious gift, what else remained to him ? The young GINEVRA was his all in life, Still as she grew, for ever in...
Side 99 - Orsini lived — and long might you have seen An old man wandering as in quest of something, Something he could not find — he knew not what.
Side 102 - To sojourn among strangers, everywhere (Go where he would, along the wildest track) Flinging a charm that shall not soon be lost, And leaving footsteps to be traced by those Who love the haunts of genius ; one who saw, Observed, nor shunned the busy scenes of life, But mingled not, and 'mid the din, the stir, Lived as a separate spirit.
Side 96 - Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini. Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses, Will long detain thee; through their arched walks, Dim at noonday, discovering many a glimpse Of knights and dames such as...
Side 108 - Nor then forget that chamber of the dead, Where the gigantic shapes of Night and Day, Turned into stone, rest everlastingly : Yet still are breathing and shed round at noon A twofold influence,— only to be felt — A light, a darkness, mingling each with each ; Uoth, and yet neither.
Side 99 - Twas but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back, and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. But now, alas ! she was not to be found; Nor from that hour could...
Side 104 - He is now at rest ; And praise and blame fall on his ear alike, Now dull in death. Yes, Byron, thou art gone, Gone like a star that through the firmament Shot and was lost, in its eccentric course Dazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks, Was generous, noble — noble in its scorn Of all things low or little ; nothing there Sordid or servile. If imagined wrongs Pursued thee, urging thee sometimes to do Things long regretted, oft, as many know. None more than I, thy gratitude would build On slight...
Side 23 - It broke not ; and the roof, descending, lay Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood, His journey ended ; when a ray divine Shot through his soul. Breathing a prayer to Her Whose ears are never shut, the Blessed Virgin, He plunged...
Side 6 - ) That Sacred Lake f withdrawn among the hills, Its depth of waters flanked as with a wall Built by the Giant-race before the flood ; Where not a cross or chapel but inspires Holy delight, lifting our thoughts to God From God-like men...

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