Pinnock's Improved Edition of Dr. Goldsmith's Abridgment of the History of Rome ...

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Whittaker, 1839 - 539 Seiten
 

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Seite 59 - He heard it, but he heeded not, — his eyes Were with his heart, 'and that was far away. He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Daci.an mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday! — All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire And unavenged? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Seite 526 - Waft, waft, ye winds, His story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole ; Till o'er our ransomed nature The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign.
Seite 169 - The brave man is not he who feels no fear, . For that were stupid and irrational, But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
Seite 310 - Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world ; Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother ! Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observed, Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, To cast into my teeth.
Seite 303 - But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.
Seite 59 - I see before me the gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Seite 303 - O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure?
Seite 339 - O sun ! thy uprise shall I see no more ; Fortune and Antony part here ; even here Do we shake hands. All come to this ? The hearts That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar ; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all.
Seite 14 - His aid in vain : the man o'erpowers the god. And can ye see this righteous chief atone With guiltless blood for vices not his own? To all the gods his constant vows were paid ; Sure, though he wars for Troy, he claims our aid.
Seite 480 - A crown ! What is it ? It is to bear the miseries of a people ! To hear their murmurs, feel their discontents, And sink beneath a load of splendid care ! To have your best success...

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