Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
appear arms bear better blood body born cause common dare death Dryden earth English ev'ry eyes face fair fall fame fate father fear fields fight fire flames foes force fortune friends give gods grace ground hand happy haste head Heav'n honor hope Italy kind king land late laws least leave less light live look lord lost mean mind nature never night o'er once pains peace Persius plain play poem poet pow'r present prince race rage reason rest rise Roman sacred satire sense shore side sight soul sound stand thee things thou thought thro town translation Trojan true turn verse Virgil winds write young youth
Pàgina 253 - THREE Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty •, In both the last. The force of Nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two.
Pàgina 407 - Chase from our minds th' infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; And, lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way. Make us eternal truths receive, And practise all that we believe: Give us Thyself, that we may see The Father, and the Son, by Thee.
Pàgina 111 - Pleased with the danger when the waves went high, He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit.
Pàgina 253 - Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion For the fair disdainful dame.
Pàgina 219 - My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires; My manhood, long misled by wandering fires, Follow'd false lights; and when their glimpse was gone, My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. Such was I, such by nature still I am; Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame. Good life be now my task; my doubts are done: What more could fright my faith, than Three in One?
Pàgina 136 - In thy felonious heart though venom lies, It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame In keen iambics, but mild anagram. Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command Some peaceful province in acrostic land. There thou may'st wings display and altars raise, And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit, Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.
Pàgina 90 - The third way is that of imitation, where the translator (if now he has not lost that name) assumes the liberty not only to vary from the words and sense, but to forsake them both, as he sees occasion : and taking only some general hints from the original, to run division on the ground-work, as he pleases.
Pàgina 214 - The judging God shall close the book of fate: And there the last assizes keep, For those who wake, and those who sleep...