The Works of the English Poets: Pope's Homer

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Page 280 - 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!
Page 37 - Hector! come on; thy empty threats forbear; Tis not thy arm, 'tis thundering Jove we fear: The skill of war to us not idly given, Lo! Greece is humbled, not by Troy, but Heaven.
Page 188 - Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight, And solemn dance and hymeneal rite ; Along the street the new-made brides are led, With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed ; The youthful dancers in a circle bound To the soft flute and cithern's silver sound ; Through the fair streets the matrons in a row Stand in their porches and enjoy the show.
Page 90 - Bursts as a wave that from the clouds impends, And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends ; White are the decks with foam ; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud ; Pale, trembling, tired, the sailors freeze with fears; And instant death on every wave appears \— So pale the Greeks the eyes of Hector meet, The chief so thunders, and so shakes the fleet.
Page 348 - For him through hostile camps I bent my way, For him thus prostrate at thy feet I lay; Large gifts proportion'd to thy wrath I bear; O hear the wretched, and the gods revere...
Page 345 - scapes the law. Respecting him, my soul abjures the' offence; And as the crime, I dread the consequence. Thee, far as Argos, pleas'd I could convey; Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way: On thee attend, thy safety to maintain, O'er pathless forests, or the roaring main.
Page 93 - Thou wouldst have thought, so furious was their fire, No force could tame them, and no toil could tire ; As if new vigour from new fights they won...
Page 347 - Nineteen one mother bore — Dead, all are dead! How oft, alas ! has wretched Priam bled ! Still one was left, their loss to recompense; His father's hope, his country's last defence.
Page 227 - Thus (breathing rage through all) the hero said; A wood of lances rises round his head, Clamours on clamours tempest all the air, They join, they throng, they thicken to the war. But Phoebus warns him from high heaven to shun The single fight with Thetis...
Page 274 - He spoke, and launch'd his javelin at the foe ; But Hector shunn'd the meditated blow: He stoop'd, while o'er his head the flying spear Sung innocent, and spent its force in air. Minerva watch'd it falling on the land, Then drew, and gave to great Achilles...

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