Selections from Tibullus and Propertius

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Clarendon Press, 1887 - 380 Seiten
 

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Seite 257 - EXEGI monumentum aere perennius Regalique situ pyramidum altius, Quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens Possit diruere aut innumerabilis Annorum series et fuga temporum. Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei Vitabit Libitinam. Usque ego postera Crescam laude recens, dum Capitolium Scandet cum tacita Virgine pontifex.
Seite 189 - In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above ; For love is heaven, and heaven is love.
Seite 189 - Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my State with kings.
Seite 279 - 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 : Ah me ! I fondly dream, Had ye been there...
Seite 279 - Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. Ah; who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge?
Seite 217 - IT is not Beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair : Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed : — A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flowers, These are but gauds : nay what are lips ? Coral beneath the...
Seite 279 - Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved 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," — for what could that have done?
Seite 279 - 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...
Seite 258 - That ages, empires, and religions there Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; For such as he can lend,— they borrow not Glory from those who made the world their prey; And he is gathered to the kings of thought Who waged contention with their time's decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.
Seite 118 - Custodes ; videamus uter plus scribere possit. Di bene fecerunt, inopis me quodque pusilli Finxerunt animi, raro, et perpauca loquentis. At tu conclusas hircinis follibus auras, Usque laborantes, dum ferrum molliat ignis, 20 Ut mavis, imitare.

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