Italy

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1877

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Page 20 - AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones...
Page 191 - Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep ! He hath awakened from the dream of life. 'Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings.
Page 192 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain ; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Page 91 - Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see What conflux issuing forth, or entering in, Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces Hasting, or on return, in robes of state ; Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power, Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings ; Or embassies from regions far remote, In various habits, on the Appian road...
Page 111 - No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank ; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank ; And when above the surges They saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer.
Page 132 - twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old ! — The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.
Page 112 - And now he feels the bottom ; Now on dry earth he stands; Now round him throng the Fathers To press his gory hands; And now with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River-Gate, Borne by the joyous crowd.
Page 110 - Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace." Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus nought spake he; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home, And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome: "O Tiber! father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms Take thou in charge this day!
Page 131 - 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; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber: and, More near, from out the Caesars...
Page 109 - And like a horse unbroken, When first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, And whirling down in fierce career Battlement, and plank, and pier, Rushed headlong to the sea. Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face ; "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now...

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