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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
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Questions of the Soul

Isaac Thomas Hecker - 1855 - 294 oldal
...feels, and feels as the greatest of all needs, when it would earnestly give itself to God. " Oh, Rome I my country ! City of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee." * * Byron. XIX. "Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it...

Poetry: selected for the use of schools and families by A. Bowman

Anne Bowman - 1856 - 292 oldal
...With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find. JOHNSON. 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...

the works of lord byron

j. w. lake - 1856
...tho tquch'd heait, Yet fare thee well—upon Soracte'sr ridge we pait. LXXVIII. Oh Rome! 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. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and...

A few hours with Scott: being sketches in the way of supplement to the two ...

sir Walter Scott (bart.) - 1856
...addressed by him to the country of his adoption. For though he did exclaim on one occasion — " 0 Rome, my country, city of the Soul, The orphans of the heart must turn to Thee ! " yet the shores and the mountains of Greece were objects to which his own orphaned affections, and...

The Living Age ..., 210. kötet

1896
...In a thunderstorm In the Alps, or as he gazes on the Silberhorn, his grand outburst — Oh Rome! mr country! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thw Lone Mother of dead Empires! strike the imagination more than a thousand word-pictures. Ruskin's...

The Works of Lord Byron: With an Introduction and Bibliography

George Gordon Byron - 1994 - 860 oldal
...wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well— upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVin. Oh Borne ! Tie the first time that honour has been doubted, And...were the last, from any other sceptic. Doge. Yon k ! and control In their shut breaste their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and...
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American Iconology: New Approaches to Nineteenth-century Art and Literature

David C. Miller - 1995 - 344 oldal
...powerful. But he also sees Italy as a bereft "mother" of the arts and religion and of lost "nations": Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans...heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires. . . . The Niobe of nations! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe.13 The...
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A Literary Companion to Rome: Including Ten Walking Tours

John Varriano - 1995 - 278 oldal
...soul.27 The culmination of the genre came with Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818) in verses like: Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans...of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires!28 Byron's poem was popular not only in its own day, but it exerted a powerful influence on...
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Selected Poems

George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1996 - 830 oldal
...Yet fare thee well - upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXV1II Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! 695 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...
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The Roman Remains: John Izard Middleton's Visual Souvenirs of 1820-1823 ...

John Izard Middleton, Charles R. Mack, Lynn Robertson - 1997 - 203 oldal
...an artist, taught me to appreciate the unique beauty in drawings. Lynn Robertson CANTO IV, Ixxviii 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 see...
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