The universal anthology, a collection of the best literature, with biographical and explanatory notes, ed. by R. Garnett, L. Vallée, A. Brandl. Imperial ed, 3. köide

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Richard Garnett
1899
 

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Page 196 - You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one?
Page 44 - No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank ; And when above the surges They saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer.
Page 46 - When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit ; When the chestnuts glow in the embers, And the kid turns on the spit ; When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close ; When the girls are weaving baskets, And the lads are shaping bows...
Page xvi - From Auran eastward to the royal towers Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings; Or where the sons of Eden long before Dwelt in Telassar.
Page 195 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Page 38 - Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee, As that great host with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, Where stood the dauntless three. The three stood calm and silent, And looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter From all the vanguard rose...
Page 310 - Eat with their burning cold into my bones. Heaven's winged hound, polluting from thy lips His beak in poison not his own, tears up My heart; and shapeless sights come wandering by, The ghastly people of the realm of dream, Mocking me: and the Earthquake-fiends are charged To wrench the rivets from my quivering wounds When the rocks split and close again behind: While from their loud abysses howling throng The genii of the storm, urging the rage Of whirlwind, and afflict me with keen hail.
Page 31 - Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill ; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill ; Beyond all streams Clitumnus Is to the herdsman dear ; Best of all pools the fowler loves The great Volsinian mere.
Page 196 - Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae 1 What, silent still?
Page 35 - And plainly and more plainly, Above that glimmering line, Now might ye see the banners Of twelve fair cities shine ; But the banner of proud Clusium Was highest of them all — The terror of the Umbrian, The terror of the Gaul.

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