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O Rome! my country! city of the soul !

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 78. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands.

Stanza 79.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.

Stanza 98.


Heaven gives its favourites

early death.

Stanza 102.

Stanza 108.

History, with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.

Man !
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
Tully was not so eloquent as thou,
Thou nameless column with the buried base.

Stanza 109.

Stanza 110.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast.

Stanza 115.

The nympholepsy of some fond despair.

Ibid. Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.

Ibid. Alas! our young

affections run to waste, Or water but the desert.

Stanza 120.

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

Stanza 145.

i See Wordsworth, page 478.
2 Literally the exclamation of the pilgrims in the eighth century.

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ?
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ?
Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low
Some less majestic, less beloved head ?

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 168.


Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place,
With one fair spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And hating no one, love but only her!

Stanza 177.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;
There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more.

Stanza 178.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin, — his control
Stops with the shore.

Stanza 179.

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin'd, and unknown.”

Ibid. Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.8

Stanza 182.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests.

Stanza 183

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from a boy

1 See Cowper, page 418.
2 See Pope, page 341.

3 And thou vast ocean, on whose awful face
Tiine's iron feet can print no ruin-trace.

ROBERT MOSTGOMERY: The Omnipresence of the Deity.

I wantoned with thy breakers,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid

hand upon thy mane, as I do here.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 184.

And what is writ is writ, Would it were worthier!

Stanza 185.

Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been,
A sound which makes us linger; yet — farewell!

Stanza 186.
Hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.

The Waltz.
He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress,
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.

The Giaour. Line 68.
Such is the aspect of this shore;
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.

Line 90.
Shrine of the mighty! can it be
That this is all remains of thee?

Line 106.
For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.

Line 123
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own;
And every woe a tear can claim,
Except an erring sister's shame.

Line 418.

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1 He laid his hand upon “the ocean's mane,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks.

Polloc: The Course of Time, book iv. line 389.

The keenest pangs the wretched find

Are rapture to the dreary void,
The leafless desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemployed.

The Giaour. Line 957.
Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock. Line 909.
The cold in clime are cold in blood,
Their love can scarce deserve the name.

Line 1099.
I die, - but first I have possessid,
And come what may, I have been bless’d.

Line 1114.
She was a form of life and light
That seen, became a part of sight,
And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,
The morning-star of memory!
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven;

A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire.

Line 1127. Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime; Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ?!

The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 1. Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all save the spirit of man is divine ?

Ibid. Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray ? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight,

1 Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,

Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom,
Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows,
And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose !

GOETHE: Wilhelm Meister.

His changing cheek, his sinking heart, confess
The might, the majesty of loveliness?

The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 6.
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, -
And oh, that eye was in itself a soul !

Ibid. The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle. Canto ii. Stanza 2. Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray! Stanza 20. He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace !?

Ibid. Hark! to the hurried question of despair: “Where is my child ?” an echo answers,

“ Where ? 3

Stanza 27. The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.

The Corsair. Preface. O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 4 Survey our empire, and behold our home! These are our realms, no limit to their sway, Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.

The Corsair. Canto i, Stanza 1. Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.

Ibid. She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife.

Stanza 3.

1 See Grav, page 382.
? See Lovelace, page 259. Browne, page 218.

8 Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant (They make solitude, which they call peace). — Tacitus: Agricola, c. 30.

4 I came to the place of my birth, and cried, “The friends of my youth, where are they?" And echo answered, “Where are they?" - Arabic MS. 5 See Churchill, page 413.

To all nations their empire will be dreadful, because their ships will sail wherever billows roll or winds can waft them. - DALRYMPLE : Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 152.

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