"The Passion of Dido"; Or, The Fourth Book of the Aeneid of Virgil: Freely Rendered in English Blank Verse

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Bell, 1878 - 67 pages
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Page 55 - When lovely woman stoops to folly. And finds, too late, that men betray. What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover. To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, — is to die.
Page 58 - Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale, She all night long her amorous descant sung...
Page 59 - As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night! O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene; Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole; O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain's head.
Page 60 - d Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill : The grasshopper is silent in the grass : The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps.
Page 45 - Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, They crowned him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
Page 42 - Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat Sighing through all her Works gave signs of woe, That all was lost.
Page 59 - As when in heaven the stars about the moon Look beautiful, when all the winds are laid, And every height comes out, and jutting peak And valley, and the immeasurable heavens Break open to their highest, and all the stars Shine, and the Shepherd gladdens in his heart...
Page 39 - And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain ! But when I speak — thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary ! thou art dead...
Page 58 - Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Page 52 - But I will punish home: No, I will weep no more. In such a night To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more of that.

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