A Poetical Translation of the Works of Horace: With the Original Text, and Critical Notes, Zväzok 1A. Miller, 1750 |
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Æneid againſt Alcæus almoft ancient Antony appears Archytas Auguftus Bacchus Battle of Actium Beauty becauſe befides beſt bold Cæfar called CARMEN Catullus Character CRUQ Cuningham Dacier Death defcended defcribed Defign Defires Doctor Bentley Epicurean Epithet expreffed Expreffion facred fame Faunus fays Feafts fecond feems fhall fhews fhould fignifies fince fing firft firſt fome fuch Goddeſs Gods Hiftory himſelf Honour Horace impious Inftance Jove Jupiter Kind laft Latin lefs Love Lyre Lyric Poetry Mæcenas Manufcripts Meaſures moft moſt Mufe muſt natural neque Number nunc o'er Octavius Oppofition Ovid Paffage Paffion Parthians Perfon Pleaſure Poet poetical Poetry Pollio Praife prefent preferve Proculeius propofed quæ Quid Quum racter raiſe Reaſon reprefented rife Romans Rome Sanadon ſeems Senfe Senſe ſhall Soul Strophe Terrour Teucer Thee thefe theſe thofe tibi Tibur TORR Tranflation TYNDARIS ufed ufual underſtand uſed Venus Verf Virgil whofe Wine Word
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Strana 222 - XON usitata nec tenui ferar Penna biformis per liquidum aethera Vates, neque in terris morabor Longius, invidiaque major Urbes relinquam. Non ego, pauperum Sanguis parentum, non ego quem vocas, Dilecte Maecenas, obibo Nec Stygia cohibebor unda.
Strana 93 - For when the ghost-compelling god Forms his black troops with horrid rod, He will not, lenient to the breath Of prayer, unbar the gates of death. Tis hard: but patience must endure, And sooth the woes it cannot cure.
Strana 29 - How often shall th' unpractis'd youth Of alter'd gods, and injur'd truth, With tears, alas! complain? How soon behold, with wondering eyes, The black'ning winds tempestuous rise, And scowl along the main ? While, by his easy faith betray'd, He now enjoys thee, golden maid, Thus amiable and kind; He fondly hopes that you shall prove Thus ever vacant to his love, Nor heeds the faithless wind. Unhappy they, to whom, untried, You shine, alas!
Strana 85 - A poet's beverage humbly cheap, (Should great Maecenas be my gueft) The vintage of the Sabine grape, » But yet in fober cups, fhall crown the feaft : 'Twas rack'd into a Grecian cafk, Its rougher juice to melt away ; I feal'd it too — a pleafing tafk ! With annual joy to mark the glorious day...
Strana 87 - THE man, who knows not guilty fear, Nor wants the bow, nor pointed spear; Nor needs, while innocent of heart, The quiver teeming with the poison'd dart...
Strana 213 - Shall all its rural plenty yield; And happy in that rural store, Of Heaven and him I ask no more. Day presses on the heels of day, And moons increase to their decay; But you, with thoughtless pride elate, Unconscious of impending Fate, Command the pillar'd dome to rise, When lo! thy tomb forgotten lies; And, though the waves indignant roar, Forward you urge the Baian shore, While earth's too narrow bounds in vain Thy guilty progress would restrain.
Strana 163 - Aulon, friendly to the clustered vine, Envies the vintage of Falernian wine. That happy place, that sweet retreat, The charming: hills that round it rise, Your latest hours and mine await, And when- at length your Horace dies, There the deep sigh thy poet-friend shall mourn, And pious tears bedew his glowing urn.
Strana xvii - Satire of such Malignity, as too surely proceeds from a Desire of gratifying a constitutional Cruelty of Temper. The Satirist does not appear like a Magistrate to give Sentence on the Vices of Mankind, but like an Executioner to slaughter the Criminal. It was the Saying of a great Man, that he, who hated Vice, hated Mankind; but certainly he does not love them as he ought, who indulges...
Strana 177 - Press not too near th' unequal shore. The man, within the golden mean Who can his boldest wish contain, Securely views the ruin'd cell, "Where sordid want and sorrow dwell. And, in himself serenely great, Declines an envied room of state. When high in air the pine ascends, To every ruder blast it bends. The palace...
Strana 213 - My patron's gift, my Sabine field, Shall all its rural plenty yield; And happy in that rural store, Of Heaven and him I ask no more. Day presses on the heels of day, And moons increase to their decay; But you, with thoughtless pride elate, Unconscious of impending Fate, Command the pillar'd dome to rise, When lo!