ITALY
For whereso'er I turn my ravished eyes,
Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise;
Poetic fields encompass me around,
And still I seem to tread on classic ground.
Italy, my Italy!
Queen Mary's saying serves for me—
(When fortune's malice
Lost her Calais)—
Open my heart and you will see
Graved inside of it, "Italy."
Robert Browning—Men and Women. "De Gustibus."
| note =
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Italia, Italia, O tu cui feo la sorte,
Dono infelice di bellezza, ond' hai
Funesta dote d'infiniti guai
Che in fronte scritti per gran doglia porte.
Italia! O Italia! thou who hast
The fatal gift of beauty, which became
A funeral dower of present woes and past,
On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame,
And annals graved in characters of flame.
Vicenzo Filicaja—Italia. English rendering by Byron—CMdeflaroW. Canto IV. St. 42.
| note =
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Beyond the Alps lies Italy.
J. W. Foley—Graduation Time. Expression found in Lrvr—Ab Urbe. Bk. 21. 30.
| note =
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>L'Italie est un nom geographique.
Italy is only a geographical expression.
Prince Metternich to Lord Palmerston, 1847. See his Letter to Count Prokesch-Osten, Nov. 19, 1849. Correspondence of Prokesch. II. 313. First used by Metternich in his Memorandum to the Great Powers, Aug. 2, 1814.
Gli Italiani tutti ladroni.
All Italians are plunderers.
Napoleon Bonaparte when in Italy.
| note =
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Non tutti, ma buona parte.
Not all but a good part.
Response by a lady who overheard him. See Coleridge—Biograj MaLiteraria. Satyrane's Letters. No. 2. (Ed. 1870)
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>I Francesci son tutti ladri—Non tutti—ma buona parte.
Pasqotn when the French were in possession of Rome. See Catherine Taylor's Letters from Italy. Vol. I. P. 239. (Ed. 1840) Quoted also by Charlotte Eaton—Rome in the Nineteenth Cent. VdI. II. P. 120. (Ed. 1852)
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Poe—Helen.
| note =
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>My soul to-day
Is far away
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay.
T. B. Read—Drifting.
| note =
| topic = Italy
| page = 402
}}
IVY
Hedera Helix
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>For ivy climbs the crumbling hall
To decorate decay.
Bailey—Festus. Sc. A Large Party and Entertainment.
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow
But thinking of a wreath, * * *
I like such ivy; bold to leap a height
'Twas strong to climb! as good to grow on graves
As twist about a thyrsus; pretty too
(And that's not ill) when twisted round a comb.
E. B. Browning—Aurora Leigh. Bk. II.
Walls must get the weather stain
Before they grow the ivy.
E. B. Browning—Aurora Leigh. Bk. VIII.
The rugged trees are mingling
Their flowery sprays in love;
The ivy climbs the laurel
To clasp the boughs above.
Bryant—The Serenade.
As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone,
And hides the ruin that it feeds upon.
| author = Cowper
| work = The Progress of Error. L. 285.
Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
- * * *
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green.
Direct
The clasping ivy where to climb.
| author = Milton
| work = Paradise Lost.
| place = Bk. IX. L. 216.
On my velvet couch reclining,
Ivy leaves my brow entwining,
While my soul expands with glee,
What are kings and crowns to me?
Moore:—Odes of Anacreon. Ode XLVM.
Bring, bring the madding Bay, the drunken
vine;
The creeping, dirty, courtly Ivy join.
| author = Pope
| work = The Dunciad.
| place = Bk. I. L. 303.
Round broken columns clasping ivy twin'd.
| author = Pope
| work = Windsor Forest. L. 69.
Where round some mould'ring tow'r pale ivy
creeps,
And low-browM rocks hang nodding o'er the
| author = Pope
| work = Eloisa to Abelard. L. 243.
