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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. "
Memoirs of the life and writings of lord Byron - Strana 400
autor/autoři: George Clinton (biographer of Byron.) - 1825
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Wanderings by the Seine

Leitch Ritchie - 1834 - 256 str.
...that enchant, Refinement•s self is seen in TANKEBVILLE." CHAPTER IV. THE WANDERER•S REVERIE. " Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O•er steps of broken thrones and temples ! * * * » * Cypress and ivy, weed and wall-flower, grown, Matted, and massed together, hillocks heaped...
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The complete works of lord Byron, repr. from the last London ed ..., Svazek 1

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1837
...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...and temples, Ye ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — Л world is at our feet as fragile as oar clay. LXXIX. The Niobe of nations! there she stands,(l)...
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Childe Harold's pilgrimage, a romaunt

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1837
...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. Lx xvm. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans...mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut hreasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferanee ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl,...
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The spirit of the woods, by the author of 'The moral of flowers'.

Rebecca Hey - 1837
...touching effect, what mournful grace, does it throw over the architectural remains of ancient Rome ! • " come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples." " Cypress and ivy, weed and wall-flower grown Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd On what were...
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The Quarterly Review, Svazek 131

1871
...of human vanity, with the halo which he flings around the rocks and valleys of the Alps : — ' Oil Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thce, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. \\hat are...
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The Idler in Italy, Svazek 2

Marguerite Countess of Blessington - 1839
...calls up in my mind. But to bed — to dream of Rome, and to awake, to find myself its inmate. 6th.—" Oh, Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn tothee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are...
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The Complete Works of Lord Byron: Reprinted from the Last London Edition ...

George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1841 - 935 str.
...Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. LXXVUI. uriously behold The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's...rises o'er her steep, nor climb? Harold, once more — Л world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. LXXIX. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands,...
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The Young Ladies' Class Book: A Selection of Lessons for Reading, in Prose ...

Ebenezer Bailey - 1841 - 408 str.
...give me every breath which I draw, and every comfort which I enjoy. LESSON CXLIV. Rome. — BYRON. O ROME ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans...misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and we The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples ; ye, Whose...
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Letters from an Artist, Sojourning on the Continent

Joshua Horner - 1841 - 142 str.
...can refrain from tears P Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must tarn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control...and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owlf and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye Whose agonies are evils of a day,—...
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Synonymisches Handwörterbuch der englischen Sprache für die Deutschen

H M. Melford - 1841 - 448 str.
...Glaucns were torn from his clasp. (Bulwer's Last days of Pompeii.) Oh Rome! my country! city of the souli The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control, In their shut breast their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl,...
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