Semi-serious Observations of an Italian Exile, During His Residence in England

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E. Wilson, 1833 - England - 525 pages
 

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Page 22 - Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail; Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good!
Page 93 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow — When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 92 - YE Mariners of England That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze — Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe ! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow, — While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 23 - How has kind Heaven adorn'd the happy land, And scatter'd blessings with a wasteful hand ! But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores, With all the gifts that Heaven and Earth impart, The smiles of Nature, and the charms of Art, While proud oppression in her valleys reigns, And tyranny usurps her happy plains...
Page 87 - WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain : ' Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, Britons never will be slaves.
Page 77 - O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Page 93 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow ; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.
Page 11 - Now, all amid the rigours of the year, In the wild depth of Winter, while without The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat, Between the groaning forest and the shore Beat by the boundless multitude of waves, A rural, sheltered, solitary scene; Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit, And hold high converse with the mighty Dead...
Page 103 - He sucks intelligence in every clime, And spreads the honey of his deep research At his return, a rich repast for me. He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes...
Page 177 - What a delightful thing's a turnpike road! So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving The Earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad Air can accomplish, with his wide wings waving. Had such been cut in Phaeton's time, the god Had told his son to satisfy his craving With the York mail; — but onward as we roll, Surgit amari aliquid — the toll!

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