The Latin Poets: An Anthology

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T.Y. Crowell, 1905 - 365 pages

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Page 51 - So all the world by thee at first was made, And dayly yet thou doest the same repayre ; Ne ought on earth that merry is and glad, Ne ought on earth that lovely is and fayre, But thou the same for pleasure didst prepayre : Thou art the root of all that joyous is : Great God of men and women, queene of th...
Page 293 - The fowls, long beating on their wings in vain, Despair of land, and drop into the main. Now hills and vales no more distinction know And levelled nature lies opprest below. The most of mortals perish in the flood, The small. remainder dies for want of food. A mountain of stupendous height there stands Betwixt the...
Page 293 - The expanded waters gather on the plain, They float the fields, and overtop the grain ; Then rushing onwards with a sweepy sway, Bear flocks, and folds, and labouring hinds away.
Page 303 - Philemon seized it with a prong, And from the sooty rafter drew it down, Then cut a slice, but scarce enough for one; Yet a large portion of a little Store, Which for their sakes alone he wish'd were more.
Page 291 - Lay that unnecessary fear aside, Mine be the care new people to provide ; I will from wondrous principles ordain A race unlike the first, and try my skill again.
Page 71 - It was idly said; They were a purchase Cinna made (Caius Cinna, my good friend) — It was the same thing in the end, Whether a purchase or a loan, I always used them as my own; Only the phrase was inexact; He bought them for himself in fact. But you have caught the general vice Of being too correct and nice, Over curious and precise; And seizing with precipitation The slight neglects of conversation.
Page 279 - I'm glad th'art gone; For thus alone, our ear shall better judge The hasty errors of our morning muse. Envy, why twifst thou me my time's spent ill, And caWst my verse, fruits of an idle quill ? Or that, unlike the line from whence I sprung, War's dusty honours I pursue not young ? Or that I study not the tedious laws, And prostitute my voice in every cause ? Thy scope is mortal; mine eternal fame, Which through the world shall ever chaunt my name.
Page 301 - Spent with the labour of so long a flight; And now despairing, cast a mournful look Upon the streams of her paternal brook ; Oh help, she cry'd, in this extreamest need! If water Gods are deities indeed: Gape Earth, and this unhappy wretch intomb; Or change my form, whence all my sorrows come.
Page 42 - No single thing abides, but all things flow. Fragment to fragment clings; the things thus grow Until we know and name them. By degrees They melt, and are no more the things we know.
Page 303 - It smokes; and then with trembling breath she blows, Till in a cheerful blaze the flames arose. With brushwood and with chips she strengthens these And adds at last the boughs of rotten trees. The fire thus form'd, she sets the kettle on...

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