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Page 85 - That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port, Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you ? The conqueror draws near. Once more farewell ! If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet In happier climes, and on a safer shore, Where Caesar never shall approach us more.
Page 40 - Were to refuse th' awards of Providence, And not to rest in heaven's determination. Already have we shown our love to Rome, Now let us show submission to the gods. We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, But free the common-wealth ; when this end fails, Arms have no further use : our country's cause, That drew our swords, now wrests...
Page 39 - Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled For safety, and for succour. I alone, . With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd The road he took, then hasted to my friends; Whom with a troop of fifty chosen men, I met advancing.
Page 71 - Know, villains, when such paltry slaves presume To mix in treason, if the plot succeeds, They're thrown neglected by; but, if it fails, They're sure to die like dogs, as you shall do. Here, take these factious monsters, drag them forth To sudden death.
Page 40 - Twill never be too late To sue for chains, and own a conqueror. Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time...
Page 32 - Tis not a set of features, or complexion, The tincture of a skin that I admire. Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
Page 39 - My name is Norval ! on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks : a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord : And Heav'n soon granted what my sire denied.
Page 70 - Do thou, great liberty, inspire our souls, And make our lives in thy possession happy, Or our deaths glorious in thy just defence.
Page 22 - Remember what our father oft has told us : The ways of heaven are dark and intricate, Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors : Our understanding traces them in vain, Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search : Nor sees with how much art the windings run, Nor where the regular confusion ends.