Dionysius Longinus On the Sublime: Translated from the Greek, with Notes and Observations, and Some Account of the Life, Writings, and Character of the Author

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B. Dod, 1752 - Всего страниц: 180
 

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Стр. 153 - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Стр. 78 - Her wise ladies answered her, yea, she returned answer to herself, have they not sped ? have they not divided the prey ; to every man a damsel or two ; to Sisera a prey of divers colours, a prey of divers colours of needlework, of divers colours of needlework on both sides, meet for the necks of them that take the spoil...
Стр. 74 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee: — I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not , fatal vision , sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Стр. 114 - She crieth at the gates, at the entry of the city, at the coming in at the doors: "Unto you, O men, I call; and my voice is to the sons of man.
Стр. 156 - I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
Стр. 36 - Th' infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head, Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay His dark dominions open to the day, And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n to gods. Such war th' immortals wage; such horrors rend The world's vast concave, when the gods contend.
Стр. 56 - They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths : their soul is melted because of trouble.
Стр. 45 - Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon, In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
Стр. 57 - Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription: then let fall Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.
Стр. 138 - May boldly deviate from the common track ; Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend. From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part. And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art, Which, without passing through the judgment, gains The heart, and all its end at once attains.

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