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Side 300 - tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
Side lxviii - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! Our virgins dance beneath the shade — I see their glorious black eyes shine ; But, gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 16. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep : There, swan-like, let me sing and die!
Side 301 - Romeo : and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night...
Side 48 - Drinking 1618-1667 •"THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain, •*• And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair...
Side 51 - Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, Happier than the happiest king! All the fields which thou dost see, All the plants belong to thee; All that summer hours produce, Fertile made with early juice. Man for thee does sow and plough; Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Side 51 - Phoebus is himself thy sire. To thee of all things upon earth, Life is no longer than thy mirth. Happy insect! happy thou, Dost neither age nor winter know! But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung Thy fill, the flowery leaves among, (Voluptuous and wise withal, Epicurean animal!) Sated with thy summer feast, Thou retir'st to endless rest.
Side 46 - FILL the bowl with rosy wine ! Around our temples roses twine ! And let us cheerfully awhile, Like the wine and roses, smile. Crown'd with roses, we contemn Gyges' wealthy diadem. To-day is ours ; what do we fear ? To-day is ours ; we have it here : Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish, at least, with us to stay. Let's banish business, banish sorrow ; To the Gods belongs to-morrow.
Side lxvii - THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all except their sun is set.
Side 99 - Wind, gentle evergreen, to form a shade Around the tomb where Sophocles is laid ; Sweet ivy wind thy boughs, and intertwine With blushing roses and the clustering vine : Thus will thy lasting leaves with beauties hung, Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung ; Whose soul, exalted like a god of wit, Among the Muses and the Graces writ.
Side 135 - Cling to thy home ! If there the meanest shed Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thy head, And some poor plot, with vegetables stored, Be all that Heaven allots thee for thy board, Unsavoury bread, and herbs that scatter'd grow Wild on the river-brink or mountain-brow ; Yet e'en this cheerless mansion shall provide More heart's repose than all the world beside.