Horace: Odes and Epodes

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B. H. Sanborn & Company, 1898 - 487 pages
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Page 207 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age, Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But O, sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Page 243 - He that ruleth his spirit, is better than he that taketh a city,
Page 386 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall : Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 467 - And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: am I my brother's keeper? And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground.
Page 314 - They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep: And Bahram, that great Hunter — the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
Page 206 - As the waters fail from the sea, And the flood decayeth and drieth up : So man lieth down, and riseth not. Till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, Nor be raised out of their sleep.
Page 204 - Mort a des rigueurs à nulle autre pareilles : On a beau la prier, La cruelle qu'elle est se bouche les oreilles Et nous laisse crier. Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre, Est sujet à ses lois; Et la garde qui veille aux barrières du Louvre N'en défend point nos rois. De murmurer contre elle et perdre patience, II est mal à propos; Vouloir ce que Dieu veut est la seule science Qui nous met en repos.
Page 204 - When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.
Page 102 - Nullis polluitur casta domus stupris, Mos et lex maculosum edomuit nefas, Laudantur simili prole puerperae, Culpam poena premit comes.
Page 453 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields, with bread, "Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.

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