Four Heroick epistles of Ovid, tr. into Engl. verse

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第61页 - Your piety has paid All needful rites, to rest my wand'ring shade; But cruel fate, and my more cruel wife, To Grecian swords betray'd my sleeping life. These are the monuments of Helen's love: The shame I bear below, the marks I bore above. You know in what deluding joys we pass'd The night that was by Heav'n decreed our last: For, when the fatal horse, descending down, Pregnant with arms, o'erwhelm'd th...
第67页 - No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both, That all the world shall — I will do such things — What they are yet I know not ; but they shall be The terrors of the earth.
第66页 - Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday.
第61页 - His blotted form, and blushing to be known; And therefore first began: "O Teucer's race, Who durst thy faultless figure thus deface? What heart could wish, what hand inflict, this dire disgrace?
第61页 - Whose face and limbs were one continued wound: Dishonest, with lopp'd arms, the youth appears, Spoil'd of his nose, and shorten'd of his ears. He scarcely knew him, striving to disown His blotted form, and blushing to be known; And therefore first began: "O Teucer's race, Who durst thy faultless figure thus deface?
第5页 - ... fond bosom as the icy plain : But to chaste love some god protection gives, Troy lies in ashes, and my husband lives. The Greeks return, at blazing altars bend, Barbaric spoils to Grecian gods suspend...
第15页 - I remember where a poplar stands, That bears a record graven by your hands; Live poplar thou upon the margin green, Thou, on whose rugged bark these lines are seen ; 'When Paris bears CEnone to forsake, Back to his fountain head shall Xanthus make j Haste back, O Xanthns, and ye waters turn, Paris has left the widow'd nymph to mourn.
第14页 - Who shew'd you thickets fittest for the chace, To craggy dens the savage brood to trace ? Oft by your side your meshy toils I rear'd, ' Oft o'er the mountain tops your dogs I cheer'd. You bade the wounded beech a word retain Read, and rever'd by every passing swain; As the trunk grows, still grows...
第36页 - Ah whither rush ye ? hark, the winds forbid ) Nor chance your fury but the god has chid : Say what to Troy...

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