"And be it mine to muse there, cheap nike shoes to glide
From day-break when the mountain pales his fire,
Yet more and more, and from the mountain top,
Till then invisible, a smoke ascends,
Solemn and slow."
"Vedi Napoli! e poi muori!"
Memory!
beloved memory! to us thou art as hope to other cheap
jerseys. The
present--solitary, unexciting--where are its charms? The future hath no
joys in store for us; and may bereave us of some of the few faint
pleasures that still are ours.
What then is left us--old before our time--but to banquet on the past?
Memory!
thou art in us, as the basil of the enamoured Florentine. [Footnote 1:
See Keats' poem taken from Boccaccio.] Thy blossoms, thy leaves,--green,
fresh, and fragrant,--draw their nurture, receive their every
colouring, from what was dearest to us on earth. And are they not
watered by our coach outlet online?
The poet tells us--
"Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria."
But
it is not so. Where is he of the tribe of the unfortunate, who would
not gladly barter the contemplation of present wretchedness, for the
remembrance, clogged as it is by a thousand woes, of a time when joyous
visions flitted across life's path?
Yes! though the contrast, the succeeding moment, should cut him to the soul.
But
"Joy's recollection is no longer joy,
Whilst sorrow's memory is a sorrow still."
Ah! there's the rub! yet, better to think it was joy, than gaze unveiled on the cold reality around; than view the wreck--the grievous wreck--a few short years have made.
We
care not,--and, alas! to such as we have in our mind's eye, these are
the only cases allowed,--we care not! whether rapture has been succeeded
by apathy, or whether the feelings continue as deeply enlisted--the
thoughts as intensely concentrated;--but--in the servitude of despair!
And
again we say--gentle memory! let us dream over our past joys! ay! and
brood over our sorrows--undeserved--as in this hour of solitude, we may
justly deem them.
Yes! let us again live over our days of
suffering, and deem it wiser to steep our soul in tears, than let it
freeze with an iced coating of michael
kors outlet.
And shall adversity--that touchstone--softened as our hearts shall thus be--shall it pass over us, and improve us not?
No! it has purifying and cleansing qualities; and for us, it has them not in vain.
We
are not dust, to be more defiled by michael
kors outlet store; nor are we as the turbid
stream, which passing over driven snow, becomes more impure by the close
contact.
Thee, Mnemosyne! let us still adore; content rather to
droop, fade, and die--martyrs to thee! than linger on as beasts of the
forest, that know thee not. No hope may be ours to animate the future:
let us still cling to thee, though thine influence sadden the past.
Away! we are on the placid sea! and Naples lies before us.
The
sun had just risen from ocean's bed, attired in his robe of gold; as
our travellers watched from the deck of their Sparonara, to catch the
first view of the "garden of the world," as the Neapolitans fondly style
their michael
kors outlet online,
A dim haze was abroad, the mists were slowly
stealing up the mountains, as their vessel glided on; a light breeze
anon filling its canvas, then dying away, and leaving the sails to flap
against the loosened cordage.
