Progressive exercises on the composition of Greek iambic verse

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Whittaker & Company, 1847 - 123 sider

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Side 102 - For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ; The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; By all the operations of the orbs, From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood. And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever...
Side 113 - Action is transitory — a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle— this way or that — 'Tis done, and in the after vacancy We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed: Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
Side 99 - Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'dst have, great Glamis, that which cries, "Thus thou must do, if thou have it, And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should...
Side 99 - Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, And the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb shall sing: For in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert.
Side 106 - Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir; Give me a gash, put me to present pain; Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, O'erbear the shores of my mortality, And drown me with great sweetness.
Side 115 - A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast, Shook all the dome : the doors around me clapt ; The iron wicket, that defends the vault, Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid, Burst open, and disclosed the mighty dead. From out each monument, in order placed, An armed ghost starts up: the boy-king last Reared his inglorious head. A peal of groans Then followed, and a lamentable voice Cried, Egypt is no more...
Side 108 - Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips, Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience...
Side 102 - The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter.
Side 99 - It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great; Art not without ambition; but without The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly, That...

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