Specimens of Greek and Latin verse: chiefly translations

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H.G. Bohn, 1853 - English poetry - 154 pages

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Page 8 - What, silent still ? and silent all ? Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, " Let one living head, But one arise, — we come, we come ! " "Tis but the living who are dumb.
Page 62 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.
Page 42 - tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres, till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head; The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
Page 88 - Thou sittest at the right hand of God in the glory of the Father. We believe that thou shalt come to be our Judge. We therefore pray thee help thy servants whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood.
Page 12 - Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine— Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
Page 54 - Thou makest darkness, that it may be night; wherein all the beasts of the forest do move. 21 The lions, roaring after their prey, do seek their meat from GOD. 22 The sun ariseth, and they get them away together, and lay them down in their dens. 23 Man goeth forth to his work, and to his labour, until the evening.
Page 26 - Their downy breast; the swan with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet...
Page 64 - Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest ; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing : It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes.
Page 10 - On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, Exists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, The Heracleidan blood might own.
Page 78 - How use doth breed a habit in a man ! This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, And, to the nightingale's complaining notes, Tune my distresses, and record my woes.

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