Letters from Europe: Comprising the Journal of a Tour Through Ireland, England, Scotland, France, Italy, and Switzerland in the Years 1825, '26, and '27, Том 1
G. & C. Carvill, 1827 - 562 страници
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afforded antique apartments appearance arrived banks bear beautiful bridge buildings called Castle celebrated church containing course covered crossed direction distance England erected examined extending extremely feet four France friends garden give green half hall hand handsome head height hills hour hundred interesting Italy kind ladies lake land leading leaving less LETTER light looking manners miles monument morning mountains natural nearly night o'clock objects observed occupied once ornaments Paris passed perhaps persons pleasure present principal reached remains rendered residence respect ride rising river road rocks round ruins scene scenery seat seemed seen shore side situated splendid stands stone stream streets taste thing thousand tion took town traveller trees United vale village walk walls whole winds
Страница 12 - All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Страница 147 - O, father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; Give him a little earth for charity...
Страница 374 - tis to cast one's eyes so low ! The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade ! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice ; and yon' tall, anchoring bark, Diminished to her cock ; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight.
Страница 522 - O'er dust ! a charity their dogs enjoy. What could I do? what succour? what resource? With pious sacrilege, a grave I stole ; With impious piety, that grave I wrong'd ; Short in my duty ; coward in my grief! More like her murderer, than friend, I crept, With soft-suspended step, and, muffled deep In midnight darkness, whisper'd my last sigh. I whisper'd what should echo through their realms ; Nor writ her name, whose tomb should pierce the skies.
Страница 253 - No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, ' No storied urn nor animated bust ;' This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust.
Страница 276 - Others embarked on board a ship on the coast of Buchan, and were conveyed to Norway, from whence they travelled to Sweden. In the month of May, the duke of Cumberland advanced with the army into the Highlands, as far as Fort Augustus, where he encamped; and sent off detachments on all hands, to hunt down the fugitives, and lay waste the country with fire and sword.
Страница 157 - MANY OF HIS ANCESTORS AND HIS MOTHER ARE BURIED, LIE THE REMAINS OF GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON, LORD BYRON, OF ROCHDALE, IN THE COUNTY OF LANCASTER, THE AUTHOR OF "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
Страница 136 - Ye brown o'erarching groves, That contemplation loves, Where willowy Camus lingers with delight ! Oft at the blush of dawn I trod your level lawn, Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy.