Co mówią ludzie - Napisz recenzję
Nie znaleziono żadnych recenzji w standardowych lokalizacjach.
Inne wydania - Wyświetl wszystko
admirable Alps amongst ancient appearance Arqua beautiful Bologna Bonnivard bridge Bridge of Sighs brother Bucentaur Calvin Cardinal castle celebrated Chillon church curiosity death delight doge ducal palace Duke Duke of Savoy dungeon Eckius edifice erected eyes Ezzelino feet Ferrara formed Foscari Francesco Foscari garden Geneva genius Gibbon gondoliers hath hills honour inhabitants inscription Italy lake Lausanne lofty Lombardy Lord Byron Madame Madame de Stael magnificent mansion marble Martigny Milan Mont monument morning mountain never night noble observed Padua Palladio persons Petrarch Piron poet present prison republic residence retreat Rhone Rialto rise rock Roman Rome says scene scenery seated seen side Simplon singular Sion snow spirit stranger summit Tasso thing tion tower town traveller university of Padua valley Vaud Venetian Venice Verona verses Vicenza villa visited Voltaire walk walls young
Strona 17 - And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and' far delight,— A portion of the tempest and of thee ! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Strona 24 - After laying down my pen I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.
Strona 40 - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar - for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! - May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
Strona 56 - Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.
Strona 266 - The Niobe of nations, — there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago ; The Scipios...
Strona 44 - It seem'd like me to want a mate, But was not half so desolate, And it was come to love me when None lived to love me so again, And cheering from my dungeon's brink, Had brought me back to feel and think.
Strona 43 - A light broke in upon my brain, — It was the carol of a bird ; It ceased, and then it came again, The sweetest song ear ever heard...
Strona 25 - I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent. I will not dissemble the first emotions of joy on the recovery of my freedom, and perhaps the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea that I had taken an everlasting...
Strona 270 - Where the car climb'd the Capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site: — Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, 'Here was, or is', where all is doubly night?
Strona 18 - Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around ; of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath forked His lightnings — as if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation worked, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked.