Italy, a Poem

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T. Cadell, Strand, 1830 - Italy - 284 pages

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Page 90 - Scripture-stories from the life of Christ ; A chest that came from Venice, and had held The ducal robes of some old ancestor. That by the way — it may be true or false — But don't forget the picture ; and thou wilt not, When thou hast heard the tale they told me there. She was an only child ; from infancy The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire.
Page 101 - ... darkness, mingling each with each ; Both and yet neither. There, from age to age, Two Ghosts are sitting on their sepulchres. That is the Duke LORENZO. Mark him well.* He meditates, his head upon his hand. What from beneath his helm-like bonnet scowls? Is it a face, or but an eyeless skull ? "Tis lost in shade ; yet, like the basilisk, It fascinates, and is intolerable.
Page 43 - There is a glorious city in the sea; The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing; and the salt seaweed Clings to the marble of her palaces.
Page 111 - Among the Great of every age and clime, A numerous court, turning to whom he pleased, Questioning each why he did this or that, And learning how to overcome the fear Of poverty and death...
Page 89 - Tis of a lady in her earliest youth, The very last of that illustrious race, Done by Zampieri — but by whom I care not. He who observes it, ere he passes on, Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, That he may call it up when far away. She sits, inclining forward as to speak, Her lips half open, and her finger up, As though she said,
Page 100 - Nor then forget that Chamber of the Dead, Where the gigantic shapes of Night and Day, Turned into stone, rest everlastingly ; Yet still are breathing, and shed round at noon A two-fold influence — only to be felt — A light, a darkness, mingling each with each ; Both and yet neither. There, from age to age, Two Ghosts are sitting on their sepulchres. That is the Duke LORENZO. Mark him well. He meditates, his head upon his hand. What from beneath his helm-like bonnet scowls ? * Mia bel Giovanni.
Page 249 - Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, In the Rialto, you have rated me About my moneys and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own'.
Page 91 - Twas but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back, and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. But now, alas ! she was not to be found; Nor from that hour could...
Page 88 - IF thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance To Modena, — where still religiously Among her ancient trophies, is preserved Bologna's bucket (in its chain it hangs Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandine), — Stop at a palace near the Reggio gate, Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.
Page 258 - There it was that I found and visited the famous Galileo, grown old, a prisoner to the Inquisition, for thinking in astronomy otherwise than the Franciscan and Dominican licensers thought.

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