The Cities and Cemeteries of Etruria, Volumen2

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J. Murray, 1848
 

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Página 91 - Ma quello ingrato popolo maligno, Che discese di Fiesole ab antico ; E tiene ancor del monte e del macigno, Ti si farà, per tuo ben far, nimico : Ed è ragion : chè tra gli lazzi sorbi Si disconvien fruttare al dolce fico. Vecchia fama nel mondo li chiama orbi ; Gente avara, invidiosa, e superba : Da' lor costumi fa che tu ti forbì.
Página 219 - Non era ancor di là [Nesso arrivato, Quando noi ci mettemmo per un bosco Che da nessun sentiero era segnato. Non frondi verdi, ma di color fosco; Non rami schietti, ma nodosi e 'nvolti; Non pomi v'eran, ma stecchi con tosco.
Página 441 - Yet it is less the horror than the grace Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone, Whereon the lineaments of that dead face Are graven, till the characters be grown Into itself, and thought no more can trace; 'Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain, Which humanize and harmonize the strain.
Página 237 - Queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia's triremes Heavy with fair-haired slaves; From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers, From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers.
Página 177 - Circe, The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine...
Página 177 - Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear, Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, All other parts remaining as they were ; And they, so perfect is their misery, Not once perceive their foul disfigurement, But boast themselves more comely than before ; And all their friends and native home forget, To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.
Página 28 - Lotos and lilies : and a wind arose, And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, This way and that, in many a wild festoon Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs With bunch and berry and flower thro
Página 16 - The large mound which rises close to the bridge may be the celsus collis whence /Eneas gazed on the Etruscan camp. No warlike sights or sounds now disturb the rural quiet of the scene. Sword and spear are exchanged for crook and ploughshare ; and the only sound likely to catch the ear is the lowing of cattle, the baying of sheep-dogs, or the cry of the pecorajo as he marches at the head of his flock, and calls them to follow him to their fold or to fresh pastures. Silvanus, ' the god of fields and...
Página 412 - Sweet Ariadne — no, not that one, — ah no ; Fill me the manna of Montepulciano : Fill me a magnum, and reach it me. — Gods ! How it slides to my heart by the sweetest of roads ! Oh, how it kisses me, tickles me, bites me ! Oh how my eyes loosen sweetly in tears ! BACCHUS IN TUSCANY.
Página 508 - The babe was born at the first peep of day ; He began playing on the lyre at noon, And the same evening did he steal away Apollo's herds...

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