Horace, Volume 7

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W. Blackwood and Sons, 1878 - 203 pages
 

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Page 43 - tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, ^ That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Page 26 - 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.
Page 26 - Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day. Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise. Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag. Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag ; Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree — Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea.
Page 50 - Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
Page 194 - And rarely av'rice taints the tuneful mind. Allow him but his plaything of a Pen, He ne'er rebels, or plots, like other men: Flight...
Page 191 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Page 80 - I descend to the grave, May I a small house and large garden have, And a few friends, and many books, both true, Both wise, and both delightful too ! And since love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as...
Page 24 - The circling ocean waits us : then away, where Nature smiles, To those fair lands, those blissful lands, the rich and happy isles, Where Ceres year by year crowns all the untilled land with sheaves, And the vine with purple clusters droops, unpruned of all her leaves ; Where the olive buds and burgeons, to its promise ne'er untrue, And the russet fig adorns the...
Page 6 - My father was for some time almost the only companion we had. He conversed familiarly on all subjects with us, as if we had been men ; and was at great pains, while we accompanied him in the labors of the farm, to lead the conversation to such subjects as might tend to increase our knowledge, or confirm us in virtuous habits.

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