The narrative of a journey, undertaken in ... 1819, 1820 & 1821, through France, Italy, Savoy, Switzerland, parts of Germany bordering on the Rhine, Holland, and the Netherlands
Smith, Elder, 1834 - 368 Seiten
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Seite 226 - My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: 'would, the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
Seite 253 - Imagination's tender frame, From nerve to nerve; all naked and alive They catch the spreading rays; till now the soul At length discloses every tuneful spring, To that harmonious movement from without Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain Diffuses its enchantment: Fancy dreams Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves, And vales of bliss...
Seite 5 - Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill...
Seite 311 - A double dungeon wall and wave Have made — and like a living grave Below the surface of the lake The dark vault lies...
Seite 273 - And she, proud Austria's mournful flower, Thy still imperial bride, How bears her breast the torturing hour ? Still clings she to thy side ? Must she too bend, must she too share Thy late repentance, long despair, Thou throneless Homicide ? If still she loves thee, hoard that gem — 'Tis worth thy vanished diadem!
Seite 293 - While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise New distant scenes of endless science rise.
Seite 275 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.
Seite 290 - Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, Nor written thus in vain — Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, Or deepen every stain : If thou hadst died as honour dies, Some new Napoleon might arise, To shame the world again — But who would soar the solar height, To set in such a starless night ? Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust Is vile as vulgar clay; Thy scales, Mortality!
Seite 179 - Red sheets of fire seemed to blaze upwards into the glowing heavens, and then to pour down their liquid streams upon the earth. This was followed by an incessant and complicated display of every varied device that imagination could figure, one changing into another, and the beauty of the first effaced by that of the last. Hundreds of immense wheels turned round with a velocity that almost seemed as if demons were whirling them, letting fall thousands of hissing dragons...