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Handbook for Travellers in Central Italy [By O. Blewitt]
Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2016
ages altar ancient Angelo antiquities appears arch artist bas-reliefs baths bears beautiful Bologna bronze building built called Cardinal celebrated century chamber chapel church collection columns considered constructed contains covered cross death described designs emperor enter erected Etruscan executed feet figures fine formerly four fragments Francesco French frescoes gate Greek ground hand head hill inscription interesting Italy John known lake leads leaving less Madonna marble Maria ment mentioned middle miles Monte monument mosaic nearly objects occupied original ornaments painted palace passed Paul period Peter Piazza picture pope Porta portrait present preserved Raphael remains remarkable representing restored rich road Roman Rome Route ruins saints seen side situated statue style subjects supposed Temple tion tomb town traced traveller villa Virgin walls whole
Seite 496 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low : And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Seite 285 - 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.
Seite 277 - 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...
Seite 277 - 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, while all around is torn By the distracted waters, bears serene Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn : Resembling, mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.
Seite 496 - Were with his heart, and that was far away; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother— he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday— All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Seite 470 - Vatican, go see Laocoon's torture dignifying pain — • A father's love and mortal's agony With an immortal's patience blending: — Vain The struggle ; vain , against the coiling strain And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, The old man's clench; the long envenom'd chain Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp.
Seite 385 - But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone — with nothing like to thee — Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook His former city, what could be, Of earthly structures, in His honour piled, Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
Seite 358 - There is a stern round tower of other days, Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, Such as an army's baffled strength delays, Standing with half its battlements alone, And with two thousand years of ivy grown, The garland of eternity, where wave The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown; What was this tower of strength? within its cave What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid? — A woman's grave.
Seite 351 - This Poem was chiefly written upon the mountainous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, among the flowery glades, and thickets of odoriferous blossoming trees, which are extended in ever winding labyrinths upon its immense platforms and dizzy arches suspended in the air.