Odes of Anacreon

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John Stockdale, 1800 - Greek poetry - 255 pages

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Page 249 - Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
Page 166 - But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
Page 138 - O mother ! — I am wounded through I die with pain— in sooth I do ! Stung by some little angry thing, Some serpent on a tiny wing — A bee it was — for once, I know, I heard a rustic call it so.
Page 91 - The vapours which at evening weep Are beverage to the swelling deep ; And when the rosy sun appears, He drinks the ocean's misty tears. The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre from the solar beam. Then, hence with all your sober thinking i Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; I'll make the laws of nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine ! ODE XXII.
Page 162 - Rose, thou art the sweetest flower That ever drank the amber shower; Rose, thou art the fondest child Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild. Even the Gods, who walk the sky, Are amorous of thy scented sigh.
Page 190 - Jove would give the leafy bowers A queen for all their world of flowers, The rose would be the choice of Jove, And blush, the queen of every grove.
Page 132 - Whatever decks the velvet field, Whate'er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows, For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear ; To him thy friendly notes are dear ; For thou art mild as matin dew...
Page 168 - While virgin Graces, warm with May, Fling roses o'er her dewy way. The murmuring billows of the deep Have languished into silent sleep ; And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; While cranes from hoary winter fly To flutter in a kinder sky.
Page 90 - Do villany, do, since you protest to do 't Like workmen. I 'll example you with thievery : The sun 'sa thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea : the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun...
Page 126 - Can flowery breeze, or odour's breath, Affect the slumbering chill of death ? No, no ; I ask no balm to steep With fragrant tears my bed of sleep : But now, while every pulse is glowing, Now let me breathe the balsam flowing; Now let the rose with blush of fire, Upon my brow its scent expire ; And bring the nymph with floating eye, Oh ! she will teach me how to die...

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