Urania: Taschenbuch auf das jahr 1810-1848

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F.A. Brockhaus, 1822

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Página 209 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her...
Página 222 - Welcome, to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Página 216 - 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 220 - tis haunted, holy ground, No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon: Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
Página 201 - TITAN ! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despise ; What was thy pity's recompense ? A silent suffering, and intense ; The rock, the vulture, and the chain, All that the proud can feel of pain...
Página 222 - Is THY face like thy mother's, my fair child! Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope. — Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me ; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
Página 216 - They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. Around his waist are forests braced, The Avalanche in his hand ; But ere it fall, that thundering ball Must pause for my command. The Glacier's cold and restless mass Moves onward day by day ; But I am he who bids it pass, Or with its ice delay.
Página 226 - Soft, as the memory of buried love ; Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above ; Was she— the daughter of that rude old Chief, Who met the maid with tears — but not of grief.
Página 226 - The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, And oh! that eye was in itself a Soul...
Página 226 - Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess The might, the majesty of Loveliness...

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