Narrative of an excursion from Corfu to Smyrna. To which is annexed, a tr. of the Erastæ, of Plato. By the author of 'Letters from Palestine'.

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Seite 85 - Not where he eats, but where he is eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet : we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots...
Seite 15 - The Tomb of Alexander, a dissertation on the Sarcophagus, brought from Alexandria, and now in the British Museum,
Seite 150 - So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom, . That hue which haunts it to the tomb, Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of Feeling, past away!
Seite 149 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) And mark'd the mild angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there...
Seite 148 - But the whole territory of Attica, from the promontory of Sunium to the town of Megara, was blasted by his baleful presence ; and, if we may use the comparison of a contemporary philosopher, Athens itself resembled the bleeding and empty skin of a slaughtered victim.
Seite 49 - The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white; the spare, active form ; their dialect, Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Morven.
Seite 249 - L'étoile du soir, ma compagne assidue pendant mon voyage, étoit prête à disparoître sous l'horizon; on ne l'apercevoit plus que par de longs rayons qu'elle laissoit de temps en temps descendre sur les flots, comme une lumière qui s'éteint. Par intervalles, des brises passagères...
Seite 128 - Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceases to enlarge itself, Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
Seite 133 - Though bold in open field, they yet surround The town with walls, and mound inject on mound ; Here ramparts stood, there towers rose high in air, And here through seven wide portals rush'd the war.
Seite 45 - If the moderns excel the ancients in any department of poetry, it is in that now under consideration. It must not, indeed, be supposed, that the ancients were insensible of the effects produced by this powerful charm, which more peculiarly than any other may be said " To give to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.

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