The Iliad of Homer

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Benj. H. Sanborn & Company, 1899 - Achilles (Greek mythology) - 180 pages

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Page xxi - Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACB. Prithee, peace. I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY M. What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man.
Page 161 - The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Here or There as strikes the Player goes: And He that toss'd you down into the Field, He knows about it all — HE knows — HE knows!
Page 54 - Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates! (How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!) The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.
Page 54 - Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore, Not all my brothers gasping on the shore; As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread: I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led! In Argive looms our battles to design, And woes, of which so large a part was thine!
Page 38 - Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, Now green in youth, now withering on the ground ; Another race the following spring supplies, They fall successive, and successive rise: So generations in their course decay, So flourish these, when those are past away.
Page xiv - Or, though they came with the rest in ships that bound through the waters, Dare they not enter the fight or stand in the council of Heroes, All for fear of the shame and the taunts my crime has awakened ? So said she : — they long since in Earth's soft arms were reposing. There, in their own dear land, their Fatherland, Lacedaemon.
Page 56 - No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home, There guide the spindle, and direct the loom: Me glory summons to the martial scene; The field of combat is the sphere for men. Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, The first in danger as the first in fame.
Page xxv - What tho' no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb ? Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be drest, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow ; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground, now sacred by thy reliques made.
Page 7 - At thy demand shall I restore the maid? First let the just equivalent be paid; Such as a king might ask; and let it be A treasure worthy her, and worthy me. Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim This hand shall seize some other captive dame. The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign; Ulysses' spoils, or even thy own, be mine.
Page xxv - For others good, or melt at others woe. What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade !) Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier. By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd and by strangers mourn'd ! What tho...

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