Theocritus

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Deighton, Bell, 1869 - Poetry - 182 pages
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Page 14 - I'll charm him now with charms. But let him try me more, and by the Fates He'll soon be knocking at the gates of hell. Spells of such power are in this chest of mine, Learned, lady, from mine host in Palestine. Lady, farewell: turn ocean-ward thy steeds : As I have purposed, so shall I fulfil. Farewell, thou bright-faced Moon ! Ye stars, farewell, That wait upon the car of noiseless Night.
Page 6 - Come to the Sicel isle ! Abandon now Rhium and Helice, and the mountain-cairn (That e'en gods cherish) of Lycaon's son ! Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song. " Come, king of song, o'er this my pipe, compact With wax and honey-breathing, arch thy lip : For surely I am torn from life by Love.
Page 3 - Beneath its graceful load of burnished grapes ; A boy sits on the rude fence watching them. Near him two foxes : down the rows of grapes One ranging steals the ripest; one assails With wiles the poor lad's scrip, to leave him soon Stranded and supperless. He plaits meanwhile With ears of corn a right fine cricket-trap, And fits it on a rush : for vines, for scrip, Little he cares, enamoured of his toy.
Page 47 - Eucritus and I, And baby-faced Amyntas : there we lay Half-buried in a couch of fragrant reed And fresh-cut vineleaves, who so glad as we ? A wealth of elm and poplar shook o'erhead ; Hard by, a sacred spring flowed gurgling on From the Nymphs' grot, and in the sombre boughs Ir>.
Page 13 - He spake: and I, A willing listener, sat, my hand in his, Among the cushions, and his cheek touched mine, Each hotter than its wont, and we discoursed In soft low language. Need I prate to thee, Sweet Moon, of all we said and all we did?
Page 2 - GOATHERD I DURST not, Shepherd, OI durst not pipe At noontide; fearing Pan, who at that hour Rests from the toils of hunting. Harsh is he; Wrath at his nostrils aye sits sentinel. But, Thyrsis, thou canst sing of Daphnis...
Page 1 - THYRSIS SWEET are the whispers of yon pine that makes Low music o'er the spring, and, Goatherd, sweet Thy piping; second thou to Pan alone. Is his the horned ram? then thine the goat. Is his the goat? to thee shall fall the kid; And toothsome is the flesh of unmilked kids. GOATHERD SHEPHERD, thy lay is as the noise of streams Falling and falling aye from yon tall crag. If for their meed the Muses claim...
Page 6 - From thicket now and thorn let violets spring, Now let white lilies drape the juniper, And pines grow figs, and nature all go wrong : For Daphnis dies. Let deer pursue the hounds, And mountain-owls outsing the nightingale. Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song.* So spake he, and he never spake again.
Page 66 - But thou mislik'st my hair? Well, oaken logs Are here, and embers yet aglow with fire. Burn (if thou wilt) my heart out, and my eye, My lonely eye wherein is my delight. Oh why was I not born a finny thing, To float unto thy side and kiss thy hand, Denied thy lips — and bring thee lilies white And crimson-petalled poppies
Page 62 - Fairy Bombyca ! thee do men report Lean, dusk, a gipsy : I alone nut-brown. Violets and pencilled hyacinths are swart, Yet first of flowers they're chosen for a crown. As goats pursue the clover, wolves the goat, And cranes the ploughman, upon thee I dote. Had I but Croesus...

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