The British Poets: Including Translations ...

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C. Whittingham, 1822 - Classical poetry
 

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Page 259 - For this eternal world is said of old ... But four prolific principles to hold, Four different bodies ; two to heaven ascend, And other two down to the centre tend. Fire, first, with wings expanded mounts...
Page 216 - Ask not the numbers of my growing store; Who knows how many, knows he has no more. Nor will I praise my cattle; trust not me, But judge yourself, and pass your own decree: Behold their swelling dugs...
Page 214 - A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth, Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his mouth : Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around, And wat'ry plains, the dreadful hiss resound. I heard the ruffian shepherd rudely blow, Where, in a hollow cave, I sat below ; On Acis' bosom I my head reclin'd : And still preserve the poem in my mind.
Page 37 - 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 (Like burnish'd gold the little seether shone;) Next took the coleworts which her husband got From his own ground (a small, well-water'd spot;) She stripp'd the stalks of all their leaves; the best She cull'd, and them with handy care she dress'd.
Page 258 - Strong-bon'd, and strung with nerves, in pride of years, He runs with mettle his first merry stage, Maintains the next, abated of his rage, But manages his strength, and spares his age. Heavy the third, and stiff, he sinks apace, And, though 'tis down-hill all, but creeps along the race.
Page 148 - tis he, she cries, and tears her cheeks, Her hair, and vest; and stooping to the sands, About his neck she cast her trembling hands. And is it thus, o dearer than my life, Thus, thus return'st thou to thy longing wife! She said, and to the neighbouring mole she strode, (Rais'd there to break th
Page 253 - And plough'd with pains, thy else ungrateful field ? From his yet reeking neck to draw the yoke, That neck, with which the surly clods he broke ; And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman, , Who finish'd Autumn, and the Spring began J Nor this alone ! but Heav'n itself to bribe, We to the gods our impious acts ascribe : First recompense with death their creatures...
Page 218 - twas too late to save, But what the fates allow'd to give, I gave : That Acis to his lineage should return ; And roll, among the river gods, his urn.
Page 39 - But the kind hosts their entertainment grace With hearty welcome, and an open face: In all they did, you might discern with ease A willing mind, and a desire to please.
Page 252 - Ill habits gather by unseen degrees, As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.

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