Walks in Rome (including Tivoli, Frascati, and Albano)

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Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Company, 1913 - Rome (Italy) - 709 pages

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Page 92 - 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.
Page 181 - Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back : And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. But, when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more.
Page 192 - She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks : among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her : all her friends have dealt treacherously with her, they are become her enemies.
Page 165 - Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin...
Page 566 - Or, turning to the 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.
Page 64 - For the heart of this people is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes have they closed ; lest they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.
Page 166 - Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, And shadows forth its glory.
Page 4 - 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.
Page 100 - It was at Rome, on the 15th of October 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare-footed friars were singing vespers in the Temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind.
Page 610 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

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