The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper, Volumen19

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Alexander Chalmers
J. Johnson, 1810

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Página 58 - As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, O'er Heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene ; Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole, O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain's head ; Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, A flood of glory bursts from all the skies : The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, Eye...
Página 210 - With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.
Página 75 - Could all our care elude the gloomy grave, Which claims no less the fearful than the brave, For lust of fame I should not vainly dare In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war. But since, alas ! ignoble age must come, Disease, and death's inexorable doom, The life, which others pay, let us bestow, And give to fame what we to nature owe ; Brave though we fall, and honour'd if we live, Or let us glory gain, or glory give...
Página 329 - I have endeavoured to make Virgil speak such English, as he would himself have spoken, if he had been born in England, and in this present age.
Página 61 - Who dares think one thing, and another tell, My heart detests him as the gates of hell.
Página 18 - He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,* Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod, The stamp of fate and sanction of the god : High heaven with trembling the dread signal took, And all Olympus to the centre shook.
Página 297 - The fiery courser, when he hears from far The sprightly trumpets, and the shouts of war, Pricks up his ears ; and, trembling with delight.
Página 131 - Scarce the whole people stop his desperate course, While strong affliction gives the feeble force: Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, In all the raging impotence of woe. At length he roll'd in dust, and thus begun, Imploring all, and naming one by one: 'Ah! let me, let me go where sorrow calls; I, only I, will issue from your walls (Guide or companion, friends!
Página 11 - But that which is to be allowed him, and which very much contributed to cover his defects, is a daring fiery spirit that animates his translation, which is something like what one might imagine Homer himself would have writ before he arrived at years of discretion.
Página 157 - Perverse mankind ! whose wills, created free, Charge all their woes on absolute decree ; All to the dooming gods their guilt translate, And follies are miscall'd the crimes of Fate.