...to answer, only as it may be spoken to them by the mournful breezes of the surrounding desolation. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans...must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see...

...preceding poems from the same source, and which this subject seems so "well [calculated to have excited. Oh Rome '. my Country ! City of the Soul ! The Orphans...mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What arc our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl,...

...poems from the same source, and which this subject seems so well calculated to have excited. Lxxvin. Oh Rome ! my Country ! City of the Soul ! The Orphans...mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance •' Come and ssx The cypress, hear the...

...will conclude our extracts ; which, though numerous, will not, we think, be thought too numerous. " Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans...must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The...

...us a translation of an EJegy, by William Augustus Schle, 78. 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,...

...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well — upon Socrate's ridge we part. LXXVIII. Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans...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,...

...£efer¿, Ьоф mciüíid; oerfagt er e$ ftd), ben (S'mbrucf weitet ju treibea ali nfc¡i;tg war. ,,Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans...heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires I and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woei and sufferance? Come and...

...fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVI1F. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul f The orphans of the heart must turn to thee', Lone mother of dead empires ! and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see...

...there is a mixture of pathos and sublimity worthy of the subject ; and we cannot give it higher praise. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart nuibtturn to ther, Lone mother of dead em pires! and coutruul lu their shut breasts their petty uiiseiy....

...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well— upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVIII. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lane mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut hreasts their petty misery. What are our woes...