The Iliad, tr. by mr. Pope. [With notes partly by W. Broome. Preceded by] An essay on ... Homer [by T. Parnell].

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Página 4 - Him, as he blazing shot across the field, The careful eyes of Priam first beheld. Not half so dreadful rises to the sight...
Página 160 - Before the' inspiring god that urg'd them on, The coursers fly, with spirit not their own. And now they reach'd the naval walls, and found The guards repasting, while the bowls go round ; On these the virtue of his wand he tries, And pours deep...
Página 166 - For him through hostile camps I bent my way, For him thus prostrate at thy feet I lay; Large gifts proportion'd to thy wrath I bear; O hear the wretched, and the gods revere!
Página 38 - And cast, far off, the regal veils away. With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans, While the sad father answers groans with groans ; Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o'erflow, And the whole city wears one face of woe : No...
Página 44 - The veil and diadem, flew far away, (The gift of Venus on her bridal day.) Around a train of weeping sisters stands To raise her sinking with assistant hands.
Página 170 - See him, in Troy, the pious care decline Of his weak age, to live the curse of thine ! Thou too, old man, hast happier days beheld; In riches once, in children once excell'd; Extended Phrygia own'd thy ample reign, And all fair Lesbos' blissful seats contain, And all wide Hellespont's unmeasured main.
Página 46 - The wretch obeys, retiring with a tear. Thus wretched, thus retiring all in tears, To my sad soul Astyanax appears!
Página 95 - The driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand; And touch thy steeds, and swear thy whole intent Was but to conquer, not to circumvent. Swear by that god whose liquid arms surround The globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the ground!
Página 157 - To watch this quarter, my adventure falls: For with the morn the Greeks attack your walls; Sleepless they sit, impatient to engage, And scarce their rulers check their martial rage.' 'If then thou art of stern Pelides" train, (The mournful monarch thus rejoin'd again,) Ah, tell me truly, where, oh!
Página 166 - The fcourge and ruin of my realm and race : Suppliant my children's murd'rer to implore, And kifs thofe hands yet reeking with their gore ! Thefe words foft pity in the chief infpire, Touch'd with the dear remembrance of his fire.

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