The Lusiad: Or, the Discovery of India. An Epic Poem. Translated from the Original Portuguese of Luis de Camoëns. By William Julius Mickle. In Two Volumes. ...

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T. Cadell jun. and W. Davies, 1798 - Explorers, Portuguese

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Page 167 - Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is, in suing long to bide: To lose good days, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed today, to be put back tomorrow; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow; To have thy prince's grace, yet want her peers...
Page 51 - Leader ! the terms we sent were terms of weight, Of hard contents, and full of force urg'd home ^ Such as we might perceive amus'd them all, And stumbled many; Who receives them right, Had need from head to foot well understand; Not understood, this gift they have besides, They show us when our foes walk not upright.
Page 165 - Now blest with all the wealth fond hope could crave, Soon I beheld that wealth beneath the wave For ever lost ; myself escaped alone, On the wild shore all friendless, hopeless, thrown ; My life, like Judah's heaven-doom'd king of yore, By miracle prolong'd...
Page 56 - And I saw another mighty angel come down from heaven, clothed with a cloud: and a rainbow was upon his head, and his face was as it were the sun, and his feet as pillars of fire: And he had in his hand a little book open: and he set his right foot upon the sea, and his left foot on the earth, And cried with a loud voice, as when a lion roareth: and when he had cried, seven thunders uttered their voices.
Page 264 - And, rapid as it runs, the single spokes are lost. The gazing multitudes admire around : Two active tumblers in the centre bound ; Now high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend : And general songs the sprightly revel end.
Page 144 - She then divested herself of her bracelets and other ornaments, and tied them in a cloth which hung like an apron before her, and was conducted by her female relations to one corner of the pile. On the pile was an arched arbour, formed of dry sticks, boughs, and leaves, open only at one end to admit her entrance.
Page 153 - Saturn with his crooked scythe on high, And Italus that led the colony, And ancient Janus, with his double face And bunch of keys, the porter of the place. There stood Sabinus, planter of the vines, On a short pruning-hook his head reclines, And studiously surveys his generous wines.
Page 53 - The inward anguish of his soul declared. His red eyes, glowing from their dusky caves, Shot livid fires. Far echoing o'er the waves, His voice resounded, as the caverned shore With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.
Page 55 - The loud report through Libyan cities goes. Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows — Swift from the first ; and every moment brings New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings.
Page 62 - And oft the wandering swain has heard his moan. While o'er the wave the clouded moon appears To hide her weeping face, his voice he rears O'er the wild storm. Deep in the days of yore A holy pilgrim trod the nightly...

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