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Page 37 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony ; And his droop'd head sinks gradually low ; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won.
Page 66 - 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 my everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that, whatsoever might be the future date of my History, the life of the historian must be short and precarious.
Page 396 - Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Page 65 - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June 1787, between the hours of 11 and 12, that I wrote the last lines of the last page in a summer-house in my garden. 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.
Page 66 - 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 leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that whatsoever might be the future date of my History, the life of the historian must...
Page 41 - The learned SMELFUNGUS travelled from Boulogne to Paris from Paris to Rome and so on but he set out with the spleen and jaundice, and every object he pass'd by was discoloured or distorted He wrote an account of them, but 'twas nothing but the account of his miserable feelings.
Page 196 - La vita fugge e non s' arresta un' ora; E la morte vien dietro a gran giornate; E le cose presenti e le passate Mi danno guerra, e le future ancora; E '1 rimembrar e 1' aspettar m' accora Or quinci or quindi sì, che 'n veritate, Se non eh' i' ho di me stesso pietate, I' sarei già di questi pensier fora.
Page 57 - D'un traité de philosophie Et d'un malheureux enfant. On ne sait précisément Lequel des deux nous l'a ravie. Sur ce funeste événement, Quelle opinion doit-on suivre? Saint-Lambert s'en prend au livre, Voltaire dit que c'est l'enfant.
Page 57 - This ring had been constantly worn, and Voltaire, on the death of the Marquise, claimed it, stating that it contained his portrait. What must have been his surprise, on touching the spring, to discover that of his rival ! yet it prevented him not from honoring her memory by the following pompous epitaph : — " L'univers a perdu la sublime Emilie ; Elle aimait les plaisirs, les arts, la vérité ; Les dieux en lui donnant leur âme et leur génie, Ne se sont reservés que l'immortalité.