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The Travels of a Sugar Planter: Or, Six Months in Europe
Henry Watkins 1820-1866 Allen
Sin vista previa disponible - 2016
ages American appearance arms arrived artists Austrian banks battle beautiful building built called carry cathedral celebrated church colors contains course covered cross delightful EDITORS ADVOCATE elegant English Europe eyes face feet fine Florence four France French gallery gardens give Hall hand head heard House huge immense inhabitants Italian Italy John kind lady Lake land lapis lazuli leave LETTER living London look Lord magnificent manner marble miles monument morning mountains never night paintings palace Paris passed persons piece population present remarkable represented rich river Rome seat seems seen ship side situated spent stands statuary statues stone streets style taken thing took Tower town traveller truly Venice visited walk walls whole wide wine
Página 86 - A small green isle, it seemed no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue.
Página 65 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Página 69 - THE glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Página 88 - After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.
Página 88 - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains.
Página 86 - A double dungeon wall and wave Have made — and like a living grave. Below the surface of the lake The dark vault lies...
Página 81 - Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, They crowned him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
Página 10 - He gave the little wealth he had, To build a house for fools and mad: And showed by one satiric touch, No nation wanted it so much: That kingdom he hath left his debtor, I wish it soon may have a better.
Página 33 - And turned him from the opposing rock ; Then, dashing down a darksome glen, Soon lost to hound and Hunter's ken, In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook His solitary refuge took.