Agamemnon the King ... From the Greek of Aeschylus ... By William Blew. [In Verse.]

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Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1855 - 226 páginas

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Página 220 - Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming: it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations.
Página 142 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
Página 142 - When he shall hear she died upon his words, The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination...
Página 185 - ACT V. Scene I. Mantua. A street. Enter Romeo. Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
Página 104 - In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men, Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: an image was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice...
Página 182 - Nay, do not think I flatter ; For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast but thy good spirits, To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be flatter'd ? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning.
Página 203 - Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes ! Gehenna of the waters ! thou sea Sodom ! Thus I devote thee to the infernal gods ! Thee and thy serpent seed ! [Here the Doge turns and addresses the Executioner.
Página 180 - The assembly as when hollow rocks retain The sound of blustering winds, which all night long Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull Seafaring men o'erwatched, whose bark by chance, Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay After the tempest.
Página 216 - Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Página 144 - And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill changeless brow, Where cold Obstruction's apathy...

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