Dante in English Literature from Chaucer to Cary (c. 1380-1844)

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Page 318 - As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
Page 286 - Ahi, Costantin, di quanto mal fu matre, Non la tua conversion, ma quella dote Che da te prese il primo ricco patre!
Page 315 - THE poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, He saw thro
Page 208 - Come un poco di raggio si fu messo Nel doloroso carcere, ed io scorsi Per quattro visi il mio aspetto stesso, Ambo le mani per dolor mi morsi ; E quei, pensando eh...
Page 317 - It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
Page 318 - In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work; I mine. "There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with meThat ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads...
Page 317 - I am become a name ; for always roaming with a hungry heart much have I seen and known ; cities of men and manners, climates, councils, governments, myself not least, but...
Page 354 - LANZI'S History of Painting In Italy, from the Period of the Revival of the Fine Arts to the End of the Eighteenth Century. Translated by Thomas Roscoe. 3 vols. 3*. 6d. each. LAPPENBERG'S History of England under the AngloSaxon Kings. Translated by B. Thorpe, FSA New edition, revised by EC Otte.
Page 249 - Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by ; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
Page 379 - NOW was the hour that wakens fond desire In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day...

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