A Hand-book for Travellers in the Ionian Islands, Greece, Turkey, Asia Minor, and Constantinople

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J. Murray, 1845 - 408 sidor
 

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Sida 398 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships by thousands lay below, And men in nations; — all were his! He counted them at break of day, And when the sun set, where were they?
Sida 80 - 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.
Sida 80 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
Sida 81 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! Our virgins dance beneath the shade — I see their glorious black eyes shine ; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 16 Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; There, swan-like, let me sing and die...
Sida 397 - THE isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, — Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set...
Sida 38 - If thou regret'st thy youth, why live ? The land of honourable death Is here. Up, to the field, and give Away thy breath ! Seek out (less often sought than found) A soldier's grave, for thee the best ! Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest ! PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
Sida 398 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one...
Sida 398 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells; In native swords and native ranks The only hope of courage dwells: But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad.
Sida 102 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!
Sida 398 - What, silent still? and silent all? Ah! no — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head, But one arise — we come, we come!

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