Poems Original and Translated, Volume 1

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W. Pickering, 1838 - English poetry
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Page 72 - But first, on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent: Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race...
Page 350 - Fill high the bowl with sparkling wine ; Cool the bright draught with summer snow. Amid my locks let odours flow ; Around my temples roses twine. See yon proud emblem of decay, Yon lordly pile that braves the sky ! It bids us live our little day, Teaching that Gods themselves must die.
Page 227 - JOVE descends in sleet and snow, Howls the vexed and angry deep; Every stream forgets to flow, Bound in winter's icy sleep, Ocean wave and forest hoar To the blast responsive roar. Drive the tempest from your door, Blaze on blaze your hearthstone piling, And unmeasured goblets pour Brimful, high with nectar smiling.
Page 228 - Why wait we for the torches' lights? Now let us drink, — the day invites; In mighty flagons hither bring The deep red blood of many a vine, That we may largely quaff, and sing The praises of the god of wine, — The son of Zens and Scmele, Who gave the jocund grape to be A sweet oblivion of our woes.
Page 234 - Mars first poured on either shore The storm of battle and its wild uproar, Hath man by land and sea such glory won, As for the mighty deed this day was done. By land, the Medes in myriads press the ground ; By sea, a hundred Tyrian ships are drowned, With all their martial host ; while Asia stands Deep groaning by, and wrings her helpless hands.
Page 309 - tis the greatest evil man can know, The keenest sorrow in this world of woe, The heaviest impost laid on human breath, Which all must pay, or yield the forfeit— death. For Death all wretches pray; but when the prayer Is heard, and he steps forth to ease their care, Gods ! how they tremble at his aspect rude, And, loathing, turn ! Such man's ingratitude ! And none so fondly cling to life, as he Who hath outlived all life's felicity.
Page 230 - THE worst of ills, and hardest to endure, Past hope, past cure, Is Penury, who, with her sister-mate Disorder, soon brings down the loftiest state, And makes it desolate. This truth the sage of Sparta told, Aristodemus old, —
Page 342 - One common doom awaits us all : The universal wheel goes round, And, soon or late, each lot must fall, When all together shall be sent To one eternal banishment.
Page 350 - Friends equal both in years and fame ; Your living easy, and your board With food, but not with luxury stored A bed, though chaste, not solitary ; Sound sleep, to shorten night's dull reign ; Wish nothing that is yours to vary ; Think all enjoyments that remain ; And for the inevitable hour, Nor hope it nigh, nor dread its power.
Page 195 - Blest as the immortal gods is he, The youth whose eyes may look on thee, Whose ears thy tongue's sweet melody May still devour. Thou smilest too! — sweet smile, whose charm Has struck my soul with wild alarm, And, when I see thee, bids disarm Each vital power. Speechless I gaze: the flame within Runs swift o'er all my quivering skin: My eyeballs swim; with dizzy din My brain reels round; And oo.

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