From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

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Scribner, Armstrong, 1876 - 355 pages
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Page 215 - STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand : I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me. and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times when many a subject land Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles ! II.
Page 293 - Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars' hill, and said, Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious. For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you.
Page 45 - Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Nor the black flowing river ; Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery Swift to be hurled — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world...
Page 151 - I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead.
Page 178 - Then shall wars and tumults cease, Then be banished grief and pain ; Righteousness, and joy, and peace, Undisturbed shall ever reign.
Page 293 - God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands...
Page 127 - The castled crag of Drachenfels("> Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strew'da scene, which I should see With double joy wert thou with me ! 2.
Page 245 - In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets...
Page 148 - How wonderful is Death, Death and his brother Sleep ! One, pale as yonder waning moon With lips of lurid blue ! The other, rosy as the morn When throned on ocean's wave It blushes o'er the world: Yet both so passing wonderful...
Page 98 - Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains: They crowned him long ago, On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.

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