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" Oh, 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... "
The works of the rt. hon. lord Byron - Sida 152
efter George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1824
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The Edinburgh Review: Or Critical Journal, Volym 30

1818
...to answer, only as it may be spoken to them by the mournful breezes of the surrounding desolation. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans...must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see...
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The Literary Gazette: A Weekly Journal of Literature, Science, and ..., Volym 2

William Jerdan, William Ring Workman, Frederick Arnold, John Morley, Charles Wycliffe Goodwin - 1818
...preceding poems from the same source, and which this subject seems so "well [calculated to have excited. Oh Rome '. my Country ! City of the Soul ! The Orphans...mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What arc our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl,...
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Spirit of the English Magazines, Volym 3

1818
...poems from the same source, and which this subject seems so well calculated to have excited. Lxxvin. Oh Rome ! my Country ! City of the Soul ! The Orphans...mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance •' Come and ssx The cypress, hear the...
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The British review and London critical journal

1818
...will conclude our extracts ; which, though numerous, will not, we think, be thought too numerous. " Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans...must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The...
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Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volym 3

1818
...us a translation of an EJegy, by William Augustus Schle, 78. Oh 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,...
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The works of ... lord Byron, Volym 7–8

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1819
...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well — upon Socrate's ridge we part. LXXVIII. Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans...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,...
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Hermes; oder kritisches Jahrbuch der Literatur, Volym 1–2

1819
...£efer¿, Ьоф mciüíid; oerfagt er e$ ftd), ben (S'mbrucf weitet ju treibea ali nfc¡i;tg war. ,,Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans...heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires I and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woei and sufferance? Come and...
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The works, of ... lord Byron, Volym 7

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1819
...fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVI1F. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul f The orphans of the heart must turn to thee', Lone mother of dead empires ! and controul In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see...
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The Literary Panorama and National Register, Volym 8

1819
...there is a mixture of pathos and sublimity worthy of the subject ; and we cannot give it higher praise. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart nuibtturn to ther, Lone mother of dead em pires! and coutruul lu their shut breasts their petty uiiseiy....
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The works of lord Byron, Volym 1

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1820
...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well— upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVIII. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lane mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut hreasts their petty misery. What are our woes...
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