o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, Whose dear remains in honoured marble sleep; For whom at last, even hostile nations groan, And friends and foes alike his talents own; Fox!
— from Fugitive Pieces by Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron

A damp, fetid, noxious vapour filled every cell; many of the windows by which the light entered had no glass, and the wet mist penetrated through the close bars.
— from Italian Prisons St. Angelo; the Piombi; the Vicaria; Prisons of the Roman Inquisition by Arthur Griffiths

As regards his position, he bore an ancient name, dignified with the title of marquis; he was an only son, and his parents were dead; he owned the fine old palace in Rome and a good deal of land elsewhere; he never gambled, and was generally considered to be rich, as fortunes go in modern Italy.
— from To Leeward by F. Marion (Francis Marion) Crawford

Another week has fled swiftly by, my boy, on those wings which poets and other long-haired creatures suppose to be eternally flapping through the imaginary atmosphere of time; yet the high old battle so long expected has not got any further than "heavy firing near the Chain Bridge," which takes place every afternoon punctually at three o'clock—just in time for the evening papers.
— from The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 1 by R. H. (Robert Henry) Newell

Soul touches soul, the muster roll Of life eternal has no gaps; And after half a century's lapse Our school-day ranks are closed and whole.
— from Personal Poems, Complete Volume IV of The Works of John Greenleaf Whittier by John Greenleaf Whittier