OEuvres complètes d'HoraceCormon et Blanc, 1834 - 777 pages |
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Page cii - Lucile le premier osa la faire voir, Aux vices des Romains présenta le miroir, Vengea l'humble vertu de la richesse altière, Et l'honnête homme à pied, du faquin en litière. Horace, à cette...
Page 219 - Before great Agamemnon reign'd, Reign'd kings as great as he, and brave, Whose huge ambition's now contain'd In the small compass of a grave : In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown : No bard had they to make all time their own.
Page cv - J'ai vécu plus que toi ; mes vers dureront moins ; Mais au bord du tombeau je mettrai tous mes soins A suivre les leçons de ta philosophie, A mépriser la mort en savourant la vie, A lire tes écrits pleins de grâce et de sens, Comme on boit d'un vin vieux qui rajeunit les sens.
Page 419 - If a man fill'd his cabinet with lyres, Whom neither music charms, nor Muse inspires ; Should he buy lasts and knives, who never made A shoe; or if a wight, who hated trade, The sails and tackle for a vessel bought ; Madman or fool he might be justly thought.
Page civ - D'abord il s'annonce comme le protégé des Muses. Elles ont pris soin de sa vie dès le berceau ; elles l'ont sauvé de tous les périls ; il est sous la garde de ces divinités tutélaires ; et en actions de grâces , il chante leurs louanges.
Page 377 - Have you no mother, sister, friends, Whose welfare on your health depends? — " Not one ; I saw them all by turns Securely settled in their urns.
Page 207 - Was promis'd short, ah ! wherefore this delay ? Come then, auspicious prince, and bring, To thy long gloomy country, light, For in thy countenance the spring Shines forth to cheer thy people's sight ; Then hasten thy return, for, thou away, Nor lustre has the sun, nor joy the day. As a fond mother views with fear The terrors of the rolling main, While envious winds, beyond his year, From his lov'd home her son detain ; To the good gods with fervent prayer she cries", And catches every omen as it...
Page 13 - Thus from the sun's ethereal beam, When bold Prometheus stole th' enlivening flame, Of fevers dire a ghastly brood, 'Till then unknown, th' unhappy fraud pursu'd. On earth their horrors baleful spread And the pale monarch of the dead, 'Till then slow-moving to his prey, Precipitately rapid swept his way.
Page 415 - It is common among all the classes of mankind, to charge each other with trifling away life: every man looks on the occupation or amusement of his neighbour, as something below the dignity of our nature, and unworthy of the attention of a rational being.
Page 101 - AMONG many parallels which men of imagination have drawn between the natural and moral state of the world, it has been observed that happiness, as well as virtue, consists in mediocrity; that to avoid every extreme is...