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Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo,
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 12.
Stanza 19. Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.
The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew,
Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang
imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till
't is gone, and all is gray.
Let these describe the undescribable.
Wordsworth, page 474. ? A translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja: "Italia, Italia! O tu cui Leo la soste."
O Rome! my country ! city of the soul!
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 78.
The Niobe of nations ! there she stands.
Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Heaven gives its favourites - early death.
History, with all her volumes vast,
Tully was not so eloquent as thou,
Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart
The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
Alas! our young affections run to waste,
I see before me the gladiator lie.
Stanza 140. There were his young barbarians all at play; There was their Dacian mother: he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday!
Stanza 141. " While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls — the world.” 2
1 See Wordsworth, page 478.
Canto iv. Stanza 168.
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou s temi osts]
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
1 Stunza 179. He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelyd, uncoflin'd, and unknown.” T'ime writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, -+!?? Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.'
Throu glorious mirror, where the Almighty's formi
1. Stanza 183.
1 See Cowper, page 418. 2 See Pope, page 341.
3 And thou vast ocean, on whose awful face 16
ROBERT MONTGOMERY: The Omnipresence of the Deity.
I wantoned with thy breakers,
as I do here. 1 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 184
And what is writ is writ, – Would it were worthier!
Hands promiscuously applied,
The Giaour. Line 68.
1 He laid his hand upon “the ocean's mane,'
POLLOK: The Course of Time, book it. line 389.
The keenest pangs the wretched find
Are rapture to the dreary void,
The Giaour. Line 957
where'er I turn’d mine eye,
A spark of that immortal fire
To lift from earth our low desire. Line 1127.
of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ? 1
The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 1.
1 Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,
GOETHE: Wilhelm Meister.