12 quotes
A mighty tree, that bears a golden bough.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
The shrill echoes ring amidst the skies.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
I proved unfaithful to my former spouse,
And now I reap the fruits of broken vows!
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
Ah, mighty Queen! you urge me to disclose,
And feel, once more, unutterable woes.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
Smooth lies the road to Pluto's gloomy shade,
And hell's black gates for ever stand displayed,
But 'tis a long unconquerable pain,
To climb to these ethereal realms again.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
Thrice round her neck my eager arms I threw;
Thrice from my empty arms the phantom flew,
Swift as the wind, with momentary flight,
Swift as a fleeting vision of the night.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
Poor pitied youth! ...
Bring fragrant flowers, the whitest lilies bring,
With all the purple beauties of the spring;
These gifts at least, these honours I'll bestow
On the dear youth, to please his shade below.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
Now on a towering arch of waves we rise,
Heaved on the bounding billows, to the skies.
Then, as the roaring surge retreating fell,
We shoot down headlong to the depths of hell.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
So from a brazen vase the trembling stream
Reflects the lunar or the solar beam:
Swift and elusive of the dazzled eyes,
From wall to wall the dancing glory flies:
Thence to the ceiling shoot the glancing rays,
And o'er the roof the quivering splendor plays.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
Be this your nobler praise in times to come,
These your imperial arts, ye sons of Rome!
O'er distant realms to stretch your awful sway,
To bid those nations tremble and obey;
To crush the proud, the suppliant foe to rear,
To give mankind a peace, or shake the world with war.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
As when sedition fires the ignoble crowd,
And the wild rabble storms and thirsts for blood;
Of stones and brands a mingled tempest flies,
With all the sudden arms that rage supplies:
If some grave sire appears, amid the strife,
In morals strict, and innocence of life,
All stand attentive, while the sage controuls
Their wrath, and calms the tempest of their souls.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)
Arms! arms! my friends, with speed my arms supply,
'Tis our last hour, and summons us to die;
My arms!—in vain you hold me,—let me go—
Give, give me back this moment to the foe.
'Tis well—we will not tamely perish all,
But die revenged, and triumph in our fall.
The Æneid of Virgil (1740)