What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Aristippus Augustus bard battle of Actium beauty Book Caesar Campania Catullus Celsus Albinovanus charm Cicero cried DAMASIPPUS Davus dear death delight doth dread Ennius Epistle Epode eyes fame farm father fear fool Forum genius give gods Greek hand happy hear heart heir hills honour Horace Horace's keep king Latium lines live look Lucilius Maecenas miles mind modern Muse ne'er never night numbers o'er pain plain play poem poet poet's Pomptine Marshes poor praise probably Propertius rich Roman Rome Sabine Satire SATIRE III SATIRE IV Sextus Pompeius slave sleep song soul STERTINIUS sure sweet taste tell Temple Temple of Vesta thee things thou thought Tibullus Tibur TIRESIAS town true Twixt Ulysses verse Virgil wealth Whilst wild wine wise words wretched write
Page 78 - Happy the man, and happy he alone, He, who can call to-day his own: He who secure within, can say, To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.
Page 53 - A shadow flits before me, Not thou, but like to thee; Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.
Page 302 - Garden; the very women of the town; the watchmen, drunken scenes, rattles; life awake, if you awake, at all hours of the night; the impossibility of being dull in Fleet Street; the crowds, the very dirt and mud, the sun shining upon houses and pavements, the...
Page 77 - Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts. Let him drink and forget his poverty and remember his misery no more.
Page 40 - A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height : Spirits of power, assembled there, complain For kindred power departing from their sight ; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Page 74 - How often have I stole forth in the coldest night in January, and found him in the garden, stuck like a dripping statue! There would he kneel to me in the snow, and sneeze and cough so pathetically! he shivering with cold, and I with apprehension! and while the freezing blast numbed our joints, how warmly would he press me to pity his flame, and glow with mutual ardour! Ah, Julia, that was something like being in love!
Page 296 - Passages which to a boy are but rhetorical commonplaces, neither better nor worse than a hundred others which any clever writer might supply, which he gets by heart and thinks very fine, and imitates, as he thinks, successfully in his own flowing versification, at length come home to him when long years have passed and he has had experience of life, and pierce him as if he had never before known them with their sad earnestness and vivid exactness.