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Reddenda; Or, Passages with Parallel Hints for Translation Into Latin Prose ...
Fred. E. Gretton
Недоступно для просмотра - 2017
afar Alcaics Anstice.—Translation bands beauty beneath birds blasts borne bosom bough breast breath breeze bright bring brow Cicero civic crown cloth clouds colours companion course dark death delight earth Elegiacs Epist exulting eyes falchion fall fire flame Fleet Street flowers garlands glittering glory glow glowworm Goddess Grammar School grove heart heaven hence Hexametebs Hexameters honour hour James Tate joyous Juven Latin Libitina light literally rendered lyre melody mind moon mortal mortal bands murmurs night nymph o'er ocean Orcus peace Peose plain pleasure purple quiver rage repose resound rest river rocks roving shades shines shore silent silver beech sleep smile snatched soft song sorrow soul spear stars stream sway sweet sweet day thee things thou thy blue Trinity College vale Vertumnus Virg voice waters wave dances wearied wild winds wing woods
Стр. 9 - Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Old time is still a,flying: And this same flower that smiles to,day To,morrow will be dying.
Стр. 55 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and...
Стр. 46 - Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest l thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more: Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Стр. 87 - The glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things : There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Стр. 30 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
Стр. 43 - And a feeling of sadness conies o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Стр. 7 - Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down ; Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, " Farewell, sweet child, farewell ! Oh ! how I loved my darling ! Though stern I sometimes be, To thee, thou know'st, I was not so.
Стр. 80 - And filled the illumined groves with ravishment. The nightly hunter, lifting a bright eye Up towards the crescent moon, with grateful heart Called on the lovely wanderer who bestowed That timely light, to share his joyous sport : And hence, a beaming Goddess with her Nymphs, Across the lawn and through the darksome grove (Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes By echo multiplied from rock or cave) Swept in the storm of chase ; as moon and stars Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven, When winds are...
Стр. 28 - The breath of the moist earth is light Around its unexpanded buds ; Like many a voice of one delight, The winds', the birds', the ocean floods', The city's voice itself, is soft like Solitude's.
Стр. 50 - EVE. DEEP on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon : My breath to heaven like vapour goes : May my soul follow soon ! The shadows of the convent-towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord : Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. As these white robes are...