Specimens of the Classic Poets: In a Chronological Series from Homer to Tryphiodorus ; Translated Into English Verse ; and Illustrated with Biographical and Critical Notes, Volume 2

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Page 3 - Fear made her devils, and weak hope her gods; Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust; Such as the souls of cowards might conceive, And, form'd like tyrants, tyrants would believe.
Page 251 - In me are fix'd those arrows, in my breast ; But sure his wings are shorn, the boy remains ; For never takes he flight, nor knows he rest ; Still, still I feel him warring through my veins. In these scorch'd vitals dost thou joy to dwell ? Oh shame ! to others let thy arrows flee ; Let veins untouch'd with all thy venom swell ; Not me thou torturest, but the shade of me. Destroy me who shall then describe the fair ? This my light Muse to thee high glory brings : When the nymph's tapering fingers,...
Page 22 - They shunn'd the pelting shower, and beating blast. No common weal the human tribe allied; Bound by no laws, by no fix'd morals tied, Each snatch'd the booty, which his fortune brought; And, wise in instinct, each his welfare sought.
Page 262 - ... And from no miseries shrink, for sake of thee ? Ah ! would, my life ! these tasks were proved in me ! Then should we find this gallant, now so proud, Skulk his mean head among the coward crowd. Let the vain braggart vaunt his puff'd success ; One short year shall divorce your tenderness. No Sibyl's years, Herculean toils, avail, Nor that last gloomy day to make my fondness fail. Yes thou shalt cull my bones, which tears bedew : " Propertius ! these were thine : ah tried and true ! Ah me !...
Page 231 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine ; like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame .Memory and her siren daughters, but by devout prayer to that eternal Spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim, with the hallowed...
Page 268 - And still expectant sighs ; while some strange fair Attracts thee to her door : we know not where. Fond fool ! when, disentangled from her head Her nightly turban's purple fillet's spread, As, drooping. with moist sleep, she lifts her eyes, Such odours from her locks dishevelled rise, As ne'er Arabia's breathing balms diffuse ; For Love's own hands extract those essenced dews. But spare him, brothers ! the repentant youth Gives his free promise now of amorous truth : And see, we reach...
Page 291 - At first, when all things lay in a great confused mass, " Ere earth, and sea, and covering heavens, were known, The face of nature, o'er the world, was one ; And men have call'd it Chaos ; formless, rude, The mass ; dead matter's weight, inert, and crude ; Where, in mix'd heap of ill-compounded mold, The jarring seeds of things confusedly roll'd.
Page 261 - FRAMEST thou excuse, who art a tale to all ? Whose Cynthia long is read at every stall ?" These words might damp a deaf man's brow, and move A candid blush for mean and nameless love. But did my Cynthia breathe a melting sigh, I were not called the head of levity : Nor broad town-scandal should traduce my fame : Then would I speak, though branded thus by name. Wonder not thou that meaner nymphs invite : They less defame me : are the causes light ? She'll now a fan of peacock's plumes demand ; And...
Page 272 - Nor he, the bard that register'd thy fall, Had left his growing song to every age. Me too shall Rome, among her last, revere ; But that far day shall on my ashes rise ; No stone a worthless sepulchre shall rear, The mean memorial where a poet lies. So may the Lycian god my vows approve ! Now let my verse its wonted sphere regain ; That, touch'd with sympathies of joy and love, The melting nymph may listen to my strain.
Page 146 - Embosom'd in my garment, bear along, Or kid forgotten by its heedless dam. Spare my small flock ! ye thieves and wolves, assail The wealthier cotes that ampler booty hold ; Ne'er for my shepherd due lustrations fail; I soothe with milk the goddess of the fold. Be present, Deities! nor gifts disdain From homely board ; nor cups with scorn survey, Earthen, yet pure ; for such the ancient swaia Form'd for himself, and shaped of ductile clay. I envy not my sires their golden heap ; Their garners...

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