"In vain she strives with dying hands To wrench away the blade: Fixed in her ribs the weapon stands, Closed by the wound it made. Bloodless and faint, she gasps for breath; Her heavy eyes sink down in death; Her cheek's bright colors fade."

"O impotence of man's frail mind To fate and to the future blind, Presumptuous and o'erweening still When Fortune follows at its will!"

"Each has his destined time: a span Is all the heritage of man: 'Tis virtue's part by deeds of praise To lengthen fame through after days."

"'Tis thus that men to heaven aspire: Go on and raise your glories higher."

"Blest pair! if aught my verse avail, No day shall make your memory fail From off the heart of time."

"Thus, severed by the ruthless plough, Dim fades a purple flower: Their weary necks so poppies bow, O'erladen by the shower."

"Me, guilty me, make me your aim, O Rutules! mine is all the blame; He did no wrong, nor e'er could do; That sky, those stars attest 'tis true; Love for his friend too freely shown, This was his crime, and this alone."

"O ye Gods, and O great Jove, Have pity on a father's love And hear Evander's prayer: If 'tis your purpose to restore My Pallas to my arms once more; If living is to see his face, Then grant me life, of your dear grace: No toil too hard to bear. But ah! if Fortune be my foe, And meditate some crushing blow, Now, now the thread in mercy break, While hope sees dim and cares mistake, While still I clasp thee darling boy, My latest and my only joy, Nor let assurance, worse than fear, With cruel tidings wound my ear."

"Ah! would but Jupiter restore The strength I had in days of yore!"

"Thou too take courage, wealth despise, And fit thee to ascend the skies, Nor be a poor man's courtesies Rejected or disdained."

"Terror wings his flight."

"Sleep gives his name to portals twain; One all of horn, they say, Through which authentic spectres gain Quick exit into day, And one which bright with ivory gleams, Whence Pluto sends delusive dreams."

"Ah son! compel me not to speak The sorrows of our race! That youth the Fates but just display To earth, nor let him longer stay: With gifts like these for aye to hold, Rome's heart had e'en been overbold. Ah! what a groan from Mars's plain Shall o'er the city sound! How wilt thou gaze on that long train, Old Tiber, rolling to the main Beside his new-raised mound! No youth of Ilium's seed inspires With hope as fair his Latian sires: Nor Rome shall dandle on her knee A nursling so adored as he. O piety! O ancient faith! O hand untamed in battle scathe! No foe had lived before his sword, Stemmed he on foot the war's red tide Or with relentless rowel gored His foaming charger's side. Dear child of pity! shouldst thou burst The dungeon-bars of Fate accurst, Our own Marcellus thou!"

"[John Conington's] translation of the Satires and Epistles of Horace [are] on the whole, perhaps, the best and most successful translation of a Classic, that exists in the English language."

"Arise from my bones, my unknown avenger."

"A wet summer and a fine winter should be the farmer's prayer."

"None knows the reason why this curse Was sent on him, this love of making verse."

"What's kept at home you cancel by a stroke: What's sent abroad you never can revoke."

"The gods implore To crush the proud and elevate the poor."

"Mere grace is not enough: a play should thrill The hearer's soul, and move it at its will."

"Who hopes by strange variety to please, Puts dolphins among forests, boars in seas."

"But, Roman, thou, do thou control The nations far and wide; Be this thy genius, to impose The rule of peace on vanquished foes, Show pity to the humbled soul, And crush the sons of pride."

"Each for himself, we all sustain The durance of our ghostly pain; Then to Elysium we repair, The few, and breathe this blissful air."

"Here sees he the illustrious dead Who fighting for their country bled; Priests who while earthly life remained Preserved that life unsoiled, unstained; Blest bards, transparent souls and clear, Whose song was worthy Phoebus' ear; Inventors who by arts refined The common lot of human kind, With all who grateful memory won By services to others done: A goodly brotherhood, bedight With coronals of virgin white."

"They reach the realms of tranquil bliss. Green spaces folded in with trees, A paradise of pleasances."

"No, had I e'en a hundred tongues, A hundred mouths, and iron lungs, Those types of guilt I could not show, Nor tell the forms of penal woe."

"This to a tyrant master sold His native land for cursed gold."

"A lethargy of sleep, Most like to death, so calm, so deep."

"No longer dream that human prayer The will of Fate can overbear."

"At Orcus' portals hold their lair Wild Sorrow and avenging Care; And pale Diseases cluster there, And pleasureless Decay Foul Penury, and Fears that kill, And Hunger, counsellor of ill, A ghastly presence they: Suffering and Death the threshold keep, And with them Death's blood-brother, Sleep."

"Along the illimitable shade Darkling and lone their way they made, Through the vast kingdom of the dead, An empty void, though tenanted: So travellers in a forest move With but the uncertain moon above, Beneath her niggard light."

"Now for a heart that scorns dismay: Now for a soul prepared."

"Back, ye unhallowed!"

"The journey down to the abyss Is prosperous and light: The palace gates of gloomy Dis Stand open day and night: But upward to retrace the way And pass into the light of day There comes the stress of labour; this May task a hero's might."

"War, dreadful war, and Tiber flood I see incarnadined with blood."

"My chief, let Fate cry on or back, 'Tis ours to follow, nothing slack: Whate'er betide, he only cures The stroke of Fortune who endures."

"They can because they think they can."

"Hush your tongues from idle speech."

"'To die! and unrevenged!' she said, 'Yet let me die.'"

"My life is lived, and I have played The part that Fortune gave."

"A woman's will Is changeful and uncertain still."

"Curst Love! what lengths of tyrant scorn Wreak'st not on those of woman born?"

"While memory lasts and pulses beat, The thought of Dido shall be sweet."

"From me you fly! Ah! let me crave, By these poor tears, that hand you gave— Since, parting with my woman's pride, My madness leaves me nought beside— By that our wedlock, by the rite Which, but begun, could yet unite, If e'er my kindness held you bound, If e'er in me your joy you found, Look on this falling house, and still, If prayer can touch you, change your will."

"She calls it marriage now; such name She chooses to conceal her shame."

"Fear proves a base-born soul."

"Huge, awful, hideous, ghastly, blind."

"Snatch him, ye Gods, from mortal eyes!"