Plutarch's Miscellanies and Essays: Comprising All His Works Collected Under the Title of "Morals", Volumen1

Little Brown, 1889

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Página 301 - Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies; They fall successive, and successive rise: So generations in their course decay; So flourish these, when those are pass'd away.
Página 327 - Andromache ! my soul's far better part, Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? No hostile hand can antedate my doom, Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth ; And such the hard condition of our birth : No force can then resist, no flight can save, All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home, There guide the spindle, and direct the loom : Me glory summons to the martial scene, The field of combat is the sphere...
Página 2 - ... such a quantity as to distemper him; for they usually prove winebibbers and drunkards, whose parents begot them when they were drunk. Wherefore Diogenes said to a stripling somewhat crack-brained and half-witted: Surely, young man, thy father begot thee when he was drunk.
Página 301 - Most vain is man! calamitous by birth. To-day with power elate, in strength he blooms; The haughty creature on that power presumes; Anon, from heaven a sad reverse he feels; Untaught to bear, 'gainst heaven the wretch rebels. For man is changeful, as his bliss or woe; Too high when prosperous, when distress'd too low. There was a day, when with the scornful great I swell'd in pomp and arrogance of state ; Proud of the power that to high birth belongs; And us'd that power to justify my wrongs.
Página 10 - It is indeed a desirable thing to be well descended, but the glory belongs to our ancestors.
Página 326 - ... mountains rise: Troy feels the blast along her shaking walls, Till on the pile the gather*d tempest falls. The structure crackles in the roaring fires, And all the night the plenteous flame aspires. All night Achilles hails Patroclus' soul, With large libations from the golden bowl.
Página 9 - Fellow citizens, why do ye turn and scrape every stone to gather wealth and take so little care of your children to whom one day you must relinquish it all...
Página 302 - Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood, The source of evil one, and one of good ; From thence the cup of mortal man he fills, 665 Blessings to these, to those distributes ills; To most he mingles both...
Página 320 - Struck through with wounds, all honest on the breast. But when the fates, in fulness of their rage, Spurn the hoar head of unresisting age, In dust the reverend lineaments deform, And pour to dogs the life-blood scarcely warm: This, this is misery ! the last, the worst, That man can feel; man fated to be curst !" He said, and acting what no words could say, Rent from his head the silver locks away.
Página 319 - Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall; And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all! Save thy dear life; or if a soul so brave Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save. Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs! While yet thy father feels the woes he bears, Yet cursed with sense!

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