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" 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, and plod... "
Hermes; oder kritisches Jahrbuch der Literatur - l. oldal
1819
Teljes nézet - Információ erről a könyvről

The Complete Works of Lord Byron: Reprinted from the Last London Edition ...

George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1841 - 935 oldal
...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVUI. uriously behold The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's...cheek, Nor feel the heart can never all grow old ? Wh ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and...

Synonymisches Handwörterbuch der englischen Sprache für die Deutschen

H M. Melford - 1841 - 448 oldal
...Glaucns were torn from his clasp. (Bulwer's Last days of Pompeii.) Oh Rome! my country! city of the souli The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control, In their shut breast their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see...

Letters from an Artist, Sojourning on the Continent

Joshua Horner - 1841 - 142 oldal
...views it with the eye of a philosopher and the heart of a philanthropist, can refrain from tears P Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must tarn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control , In their shut breasts their petty misery....

The works of lord Byron, with notes by T. Moore [and others].

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1842
...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well— upon Soracte's ridge we part LXXVin. t sleep ; There are shades which will not vanish....thoughts thou canst not banish ; By a power to thee u ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and suflerance ? Come and...

Rome, Ancient and Modern: And Its Environs, 1. kötet

Jeremiah Donovan - 1842
...she had been designated of old; — CHBS CHBIUM — TBMPLUM AEQDJTATIS — PORTOS OMHIDM GB.HTIUM! "Oh Rome! my country! City of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee. Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still The font at which the panting mind assuages Her thirst...

Handbook for Travellers in Central Italy: Including the Papal States, Rome ...

John Murray (Firm) - 1843 - 568 oldal
...Between Baccano and La Storta the traveller enjoys from some high ground the first view of St. Peter's. " Oh Rome ! my country! city of the soul ! The orphans...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...

An Essay on Elocution: With Elucidatory Passages from Various Authors

John Hanbury Dwyer - 1843
...With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till— 'tis gone and all is gray. ROME. OH Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans...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...

George Selwyn and His Contemporaries: With Memoirs and Notes, 2. kötet

John Heneage Jesse - 1843
...insensibly recall to our memory some of the finest passages in Childe Harold. Oh Rome I my country I 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. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless...

The Southern literary messenger, 9. kötet

1843
...met .so ofl Horace himself — or climb the Palatine, Dreaming of old Etander and his guest," Sic. " Oh, Rome ! My country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to ihee, Lone mother of dread empires, and control In their shut breasts iheir petty misery." • * »...

George Selwyn and His Contemporaries: With Memoirs and Notes, 2. kötet

John Heneage Jesse - 1843
...our memory some of the finest passages in Childe Harold. Oh Rome 1 my country I city of the soul I The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires I and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. The Niobe of nations I there she stands, Childless...




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