The Attitude of the Greek Tragedians Toward NatureRowsell & Hutchison, 1897 - 82 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
Aesch Aeschylus Aeschylus and Sophocles Ajax amid Androm animals Antigone Argive Aristoph Aristophanes Artemis Asopus Athens Bacchae beautiful Biese bird bright Cephisus charms chorus Cithaeron Colonus color Creusa Cyllene dance dark deep delight Dionysus earth Electra epithet Euri Euripides Eurotas expression eyes feeling for nature flowers forest Greek literature Greek poet heaven Heracles hills Hipp Hippolytus holy illustrations instances Ismenus Jebb's note land light meadow Messenia metaphor modern mountain mythology Naturgefühl Neoptolemus Nereids night nightingale o'er occurs ocean Oedipus Coloneus olive Parnassus passage pathetic fallacy personification Phil Philoctetes Phoen picturesque pides plays poet's poetry references Rhes rivers rock romantic sacred sailors Scamander scene sentiment Sept simile snow-smitten Sophocles sorrow spirit stars steeds stream Suppl Taur thou tion Trach trees vine waves wild wings Zeus ἐν καὶ
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Página 34 - Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.
Página 50 - He has no children. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam At one fell swoop?
Página 28 - And when, after a long while, this storm had passed, the maid was seen; and she cried aloud with the sharp cry of a bird in its bitterness, — even as when, within the empty nest, it sees the bed stripped of its nestlings. So she also, when she saw the corpse bare, lifted up a voice of wailing, and called down curses on the doers of that deed. And...
Página 3 - They reproduce their details with care, but we see that they take no more interest in them and no more heart in them than in describing a vestment, a shield, armour, a piece of furniture, or any production of the mechanical arts. In their love for the object it seems that they make no difference between what exists in itself and what owes its existence to art, to the human will. It seems that nature interests their minds and their curiosity more than moral feeling. They do not attach themselves...
Página 57 - What light, what radiancy did the sun-god's car dart forth, and the moon athwart the firmament, while round her in the gloom swift stars careered, in the day that the city of Argos raised the stately chant of joy at my wedding, in honour of my marriage with mail-clad Capaneus? Now from my home in frantic haste with frenzied mind...
Página 56 - Deck thee with garlands, O Ismenus! break forth into dancing, ye paved streets of our seven-gated city! come Dirce, fount of waters fair; and joined with her ye daughters of Asopus, come from your father's waves to add your maiden voices to our hymn, the victor's prize that Heracles hath won. O Pythian rock, with forests crowned, and haunts of the Muses on Helicon! make my city and her walls re-echo with cries of joy...
Página 25 - Blest are they whose days have not tasted of evil. For when a house hath once been shaken from heaven, there the curse fails nevermore, passing from life to life of the race; even as, when the surge is driven over the darkness of the deep by the fierce breath of Thracian sea-winds, it rolls up the black sand from the depths, and there is a sullen roar from wind-vexed headlands that front the blows of the storm.
Página 25 - I alone: and as some cape that fronts the North is lashed on every side by the waves of winter, so he also is fiercely lashed evermore by the dread troubles that break on him like billows, some from the setting of the sun, some from the rising, some in the region of the noon-tide beam, some from the gloom-wrapped hills of the North.
Página 61 - Oh! for wings to cleave the liquid air beyond the land of Hellas, away to the western stars, so keen the anguish of my soul, my friends!
Página 31 - O ye creeks and headlands, O ye wild creatures of the hills with whom I dwell, O ye steep cliffs! to you — for to whom else can I speak? — to you, my wonted listeners, I bewail my treatment by the son of Achilles...