The works of Virgil, closely rendered into Engl. rhythm and illustr. from British poets by R.C. Singleton, 1. kötet

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345. oldal - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which "they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
170. oldal - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! — O Sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber ; Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great...
45. oldal - Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war...
301. oldal - Thus much of this, will make Black, white; foul, fair; wrong, right; Base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant. Ha, you gods ! why this ? What this, you gods ? Why this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides ; Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench...
184. oldal - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the...
341. oldal - To-day, my lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt...
110. oldal - This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
91. oldal - The night has been unruly : where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down ; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i...
222. oldal - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

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