A Short History of Greek Literature

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American book Company, 1907 - Greek literature - 543 pages
 

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Page 196 - Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, That abundance of waters may cover thee? Canst thou send lightnings, that they may go, And say unto thee, Here we are?
Page 218 - There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me, That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine...
Page 355 - He taketh away the heart of the chief of the people of the earth, And causeth them to wander in...
Page 188 - Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay. With arms sublime, that float upon the air, In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.
Page 100 - LIKE the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough, A-top on the topmost twig, — which the pluckers forgot, somehow, — Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till now.
Page 391 - THOU wert the morning star among the living, Ere thy fair light had fled ; Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving New splendour to the dead.
Page 103 - Je vais boire à Henry EStienne, Qui des Enfers nous a rendu Du vieil Anacreon perdu La douce lyre Teïenne.
Page 158 - He doth His worst in this our life, Giving just respite lest we die through pain, Saving last pain for worst, — with which, an end. Meanwhile, the best way to escape His ire Is, not to seem too happy.
Page 126 - Before the fire has touched them; and my face As a dead leaf or dead foot's mark on snow, And all this body a broken barren tree That was so strong, and all this flower of life Disbranched and desecrated miserably, And minished all that god-like muscle and might And lesser than a man's: for all my veins Fail me, and all mine ashen life burns down.
Page 417 - ... HERACLITUS THEY told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead ; They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I wept as I remembered, how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake ; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

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