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Polybius, Histories 22 0 Browse Search
Cornelius Tacitus, The History (ed. Alfred John Church, William Jackson Brodribb) 12 0 Browse Search
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing) 8 0 Browse Search
William Hepworth Dixon, White Conquest: Volume 2 6 0 Browse Search
Vitruvius Pollio, The Ten Books on Architecture (ed. Morris Hicky Morgan) 6 0 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2 4 0 Browse Search
P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses (ed. Brookes More) 4 0 Browse Search
M. Tullius Cicero, Orations, The fourteen orations against Marcus Antonius (Philippics) (ed. C. D. Yonge) 4 0 Browse Search
George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor (ed. George Hillard) 4 0 Browse Search
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1 2 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing). You can also browse the collection for Apennines (Italy) or search for Apennines (Italy) in all documents.

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Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 11 (search)
children peeping through the vines. Sweet soul of love! I should weary of you, too; but it was glorious that day. I had another good day, too, crossing the Apennines. The young crescent moon rose in orange twilight, just as I reached the highest peak. I was alone on foot; I heard no sound; I prayed. At Florence, I was veut for my child, I would not go, till some men, now sick, know whether they shall live or die. Her child! Where was he? In Rieti,—at the foot of the Umbrian Apennines,—a day's journey to the north-east of Rome. Thither Margaret escaped with her husband, and thence she wrote the following letter: Dearest Mother,— I receivedelicious Sunday in April, of a walk which she had taken with her husband in the afternoon of that day, to the hill of San Miniato. The amethystine beauty of the Apennines,—the cypress trees that sentinel the way up to the ancient and deserted church,—the church itself, standing high and lonely on its hill, begirt with the vine
Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (ed. W. H. Channing), chapter 12 (search)
; perch‘ abito si adorno Dal mondo errante a quest ‘alto soggiorno Non sali mai in tutta questa etate. Ella contenta aver cangiato albergo, Si paragona pur coi piu perfetti Petrarca. Spring-time. Spring, bright prophet of God's eternal youth, herald forever eloquent of heaven's undying joy, has once more wrought its miracle of resurrection on the vineyards and olive-groves of Tuscany, and touched with gently-wakening fingers the myrtle and the orange in the gardens of Florence. The Apennines have put aside their snowy winding-sheet, and their untroubled faces salute with rosy gleams of promise the new day, while flowers smile upward to the serene sky amid the grass and grain fields, and fruit is swelling beneath the blossoms along the plains of Arno. The Italian spring, writes Margaret, is as good as Paradise. Days come of glorious sunshine and gently-flowing airs, that expand the heart and uplift the whole nature. The birds are twittering their first notes of love; the gro