My diary: being notes of a Continental tour, by K.H.

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For private circulation, 1878 - 146 pages
 

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Page 146 - When sated with the martial show That peopled all the plain below, The wandering eye could o'er it go, And mark the distant city glow With gloomy splendour red ; For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, That round her sable turrets flow, The morning beams were shed, And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge Castle holds its state, And all the steep slope down, Whose ridgy hack heaves to the sky. Piled deep...
Page 101 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Page 96 - Under foot and over head, a continual succession of crowded imagery, one picture passing into another, as in a dream ; forms beautiful and terrible mixed together ; dragons and serpents, and ravening beasts of prey, and graceful birds that in the midst of them drink from running fountains and feed from vases of crystal ; the passions and the pleasures of human life symbolized together, and the mystery of its redemption ; for the mazes of interwoven lines and...
Page 96 - ... moments before the form of the building can be traced ; and then there opens before us a vast cave, hewn out into the form of a Cross, and divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars. Round the domes of its roof the light enters only through narrow apertures like large stars ; and here and there a ray or two from some...
Page 97 - Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the Sea, Invisible; and from the land we went, As to a floating City — steering in, And gliding up her streets as in a dream...
Page 102 - Sublime, but neither bleak nor bare, Nor misty, are the mountains there, — Softly sublime, profusely fair ! Up to their summits clothed in green, And fruitful as the vales between, They lightly rise, And scale the skies, And groves and gardens still abound, For where no shoot Could else take root, The peaks are shelved and terraced round...
Page 67 - This grave contains all that was mortal of a young English poet, who, on his death-bed, in the bitterness of his heart at the malicious power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraven on his tombstone : " Here lies one whose name was writ in water...
Page 102 - They lightly rise And scale the skies, And groves and gardens still abound, For where no shoot Could else take root The peaks are shelved and terraced round ; Earthward appear in mingled growth The mulberry and maize, — above, The trellised vine extends to both The leafy shade they love.
Page 96 - It is lost in still deeper twilight, to which the eye must be accustomed for some moments before the form of the building can be traced ; and then there opens before us a vast cave, hewn out into the form of a Cross, and divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars.
Page 67 - Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made : Those are pearls that were his eyes, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea change, Into something rich and strange.

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