Foliorum silvula, selections for translation into Latin and Greek verse, by H.A. HoldenHubert Ashton Holden 1866 |
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Page 2
... weeping thou sat'st , while all around thee smiled ; so live , that , sinking to thy life's last sleep , calm thou may'st smile , whilst all around thee weep . SIR W. JONES E EPITAPH ON AN INFANT RE sin could blight or sorrow fade death ...
... weeping thou sat'st , while all around thee smiled ; so live , that , sinking to thy life's last sleep , calm thou may'st smile , whilst all around thee weep . SIR W. JONES E EPITAPH ON AN INFANT RE sin could blight or sorrow fade death ...
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... weeping showers . SIR W. D'AVENANT TO GOD ON HIS SICKNESSE WHAT on the willow - tree ? WHAT though my harp and violl be what though my bed be now my grave , and for my house I darknesse have ? what though my healthfull days are fled ...
... weeping showers . SIR W. D'AVENANT TO GOD ON HIS SICKNESSE WHAT on the willow - tree ? WHAT though my harp and violl be what though my bed be now my grave , and for my house I darknesse have ? what though my healthfull days are fled ...
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... WEEP A SAD SONG R. HERRICK EEP no more nor sigh nor groan ; sorrow calls no time that's gone ; violets plucked the sweetest rain makes not fresh nor grow again : 78 79 80 trim thy locks , look chearfully ; 2-2 into Latin Elegiac Verse 19.
... WEEP A SAD SONG R. HERRICK EEP no more nor sigh nor groan ; sorrow calls no time that's gone ; violets plucked the sweetest rain makes not fresh nor grow again : 78 79 80 trim thy locks , look chearfully ; 2-2 into Latin Elegiac Verse 19.
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Hubert Ashton Holden. 89 90 91 WHAT THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE HAT though no weeping loves thy ashes grace , nor polished marble emulate thy face , what though no sacred earth allow thee room , nor hallowed dirge be muttered o'er thy tomb ? yet ...
Hubert Ashton Holden. 89 90 91 WHAT THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE HAT though no weeping loves thy ashes grace , nor polished marble emulate thy face , what though no sacred earth allow thee room , nor hallowed dirge be muttered o'er thy tomb ? yet ...
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... weep - my tears revive it not : I sigh - it breathes no more on me ; its mute and uncomplaining lot is such as mine should be . VENUS AND ADONIS P. B. SHELLEY ' HE night of sorrow now is turned to day : THE her two blue windows faintly ...
... weep - my tears revive it not : I sigh - it breathes no more on me ; its mute and uncomplaining lot is such as mine should be . VENUS AND ADONIS P. B. SHELLEY ' HE night of sorrow now is turned to day : THE her two blue windows faintly ...
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Foliorum Silvula, Selections for Translation Into Latin and Greek Verse, by ... Hubert Ashton Holden No preview available - 2016 |
Foliorum Silvula, Selections for Translation Into Latin and Greek Verse, by ... Hubert Ashton Holden No preview available - 2015 |
Foliorum Silvula, Selections for Translation Into Latin and Greek Verse, by ... Hubert Ashton Holden No preview available - 2015 |
Common terms and phrases
arms beauty beneath birds breast breath bright charms clouds cold dark dead death deep delight doth dream earth Edition eyes face fair fall fear feel fields fire flowers gentle give grace grave green grove hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour land leaves light live look LORD mind morn mountain nature never night notes o'er once pain pass past peace plain pleasure rest rise rocks rose round seemed shade shine sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song soon sorrow soul sound spirit spread spring stars stood storm stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought trees turn voice wandering waters waves weep wild winds wings woods youth καὶ
Popular passages
Page 36 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me...
Page 84 - gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Page 351 - 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. The...
Page 362 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Page 87 - Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee...
Page 54 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
Page 189 - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair and wise is she ; The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair ? for beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling ; To her let us garlands bring.
Page 70 - What objects are the fountains of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? what shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance...
Page 402 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Page 34 - The Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...