Specimens of the Classic Poets: In a Chronological Series from Homer to Tryphiodorus ; Translated Into English Verse ; and Illustrated with Biographical and Critical Notes, Tom 3

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Robert Baldwin, 1814
 

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Strona 100 - Parnassus' trembling summits roll'd ; As with drawn bow the Delian archer stood, And writhed with hundred wounds he lash'd the reedy wood.
Strona 67 - A beau is one who, with the nicest care, In parted locks divides his curling hair ; One who with balm and cinnamon smells sweet, Whose humming lips some Spanish air repeat ; Whose naked arms are smooth'd with pumice-stone, And tos-i'd about with graces all his own : A beau is one who takes his constant seat.
Strona 251 - The teeming chives shot forth ; the petals spread ; The bow-pot's glory rear'd its smiling head : While this, that ere the passing moment flew, Flamed forth one blaze of scarlet on the view ; Now shook from withering stalk the waste perfume, Its verdure stript, and pale its faded bloom. I marvell'd at the spoiling flight of time, That roses thus grew old in earliest prime.
Strona 65 - Attains rehearses, Pleads finely, writes fine tales and verses ; Fine epigrams, fine farces vie With grammar and astrology ; He finely sings, and dances finely : Plays tennis : fiddles most divinely All finely done, and nothing well : Then, if a man the truth may tell, This all-accomplish'd Punchinello Is a most busy, idle fellow.
Strona 296 - d my cottage ; swelling rich with wine Hangs from the twisted elm my cluster'd vine. Boughs glow with cherries, apples bend my wood ; And the crush'd olive foams with juicy flood. Where my light beds the scattering rivulet drink, My simple pot-herbs flourish on the brink ; And poppies smiling wave the rosy head, That yield no opiate to a restless bed. If for the birds I weave the limed snare, Or for the startlish deer the net prepare, Or with a slender thread the fish delude, No other wiles disturb...
Strona 72 - Is fain to beat his mourning breast, And tear his hair beside a grave, Asks, " Blush you not to mourn a slave ? I mourn a high, rich, noble wife : And yet I bear my lot in life ! " Thy fortitude exceeds all bounds : Thou hast two hundred thousand pounds; Thou bear'st — 't is true — thy lot of life : Thou bear'st the jointure of thy wife ! — Translation of SIR CHARLES ABRAHAM ELTON.
Strona 54 - O'er smooth ascents, and where Vocontia yields The level champaign of her verdant fields. Athwart their easy march Druentia spread The devastation of its torrent bed: Turbid with stones and trunks of trees, descends The Alpine stream ; the ashen forests rends ; Rolls mountain fragments, crumbling to the shock, And beats with raving surge the channelled rock.
Strona 66 - Your porch on hundred columns soars; You tread on alabaster floors; The race-horse beats your dusty ring; Fountains, with ever-wasting spring, Fall on the ear with gliding sound, And spacious courts are opening round. 'Tis all so grand and so complete, There is no room to sleep or eat: How excellently lodged, Sir, here, In this no-lodging you appear!
Strona 116 - Some youth's twin'd arms enfold the twining maid ; Willing he wakes, while midnight hours roll on, And scorns thee, Sleep ! and waves thee to be gone. Come, then, from them ! oh leave their bed for mine ; I bid thee not with all thy plumes incline On my bow'd lids ; this kindest boon beseems The happy crowd, that share thy softest dreams ; Let thy wand's tip but touch my closing eye, Or, lightly hovering, skim, and pass me by.
Strona 53 - BEYOND the Pyrenean's lofty bound, Through blackening forests shagg'd with pine around, The Carthaginian pass'd; and, fierce, explored The Volcan champaign with his wasting sword. Then trod the threatening banks, with hastening force, Where Rhone high-swelling rolls its sweeping course. From Alpine heights, and steep rocks, cap'd with snow, Gushes the Rhone, where Gaul is stretch'd below.

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