Aeneis; Bucolica; Georgica: The Greater Poems of Virgil

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Ginn & Company, 1898
 

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Page 67 - In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page 388 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world...
Page 97 - Oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with Sandals gray, He touched the tender stops of various Quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay...
Page 296 - Before the gates there sat On either side a formidable Shape. The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair, * But ended foul in many a scaly fold Voluminous and vast, a serpent arm'd With mortal sting.
Page 94 - Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. Ay me, I fondly dream ! Had ye been there...
Page 61 - Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean: so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature.
Page 67 - Shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the Ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head...
Page 158 - Tros Anchisiade, facilis descensus Averno; Noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis ; Sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras, Hoc opus, hie labor est.
Page xvii - Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores : Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves ; Sic vos non vobis vellera fertis oves ; Sic vos non vobis mellificatis apes ; Sic vos non vobis fertis aratra boves.
Page 94 - Ay me ! I fondly dream, Had ye been there — for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal Nature did lament, When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?

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