A hand-book for travellers in Switzerland and the Alps of Savoy and Piedmont. [by J. Murray. 1st] -5th, 7th-10th, 12th, 14th-16th, 18th, 19th ed. [2 issues of the 18th ed. The 16th and 18th eds. are in 2 pt.].

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Página 173 - Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted ; Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed : Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage.
Página 173 - And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong. Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud. But every mountain now hath found a tongue. And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud...
Página 173 - Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. It is the hush of night...
Página 387 - Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below, LXIII.
Página 389 - Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains ; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
Página 178 - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 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. The air was temperate, the skv was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.
Página 173 - 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 thunderbolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around : of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd His lightnings, as if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation work'd, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd.
Página 181 - 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.
Página 173 - Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests! is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast ? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?
Página 86 - Heard the avalanches falling every five minutes nearly. From whence we stood, on the Wengen Alp, we had all these in view on one side ; on the other, the clouds rose from the opposite valley, curling up perpendicular precipices like the foam of the ocean of hell, during a spring tide — it was white, and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance...

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