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So honour cross it from the north to south,

And let them grapple: O, the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

NORTH. Imagination of some great exploit

HOT.

Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
Without corrival all her dignities :

But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

SHAKESPEARE.

ἦν γ ̓ ἀνταφῇς βορρᾶθεν ἐς νότον κλέος, τὼ δ ̓ οὖν ἁμιλλάσθωσαν· ὡς ἀνεπτάμην λέοντ ̓ ἐγείρων μᾶλλον ἢ φοβῶν πτάκα.

Ν. ἔοικεν ἀνὴρ ἔνθεος λαμπροῦ τινὸς

ἔργου φέρεσθαι τοῦ φρονεῖν ἔξω δραμών. Θ. ὦ θεοί, τόδ ̓ ὡς πήδημ ̓ ἂν εὐχερῶς δοκῶ πηδῶν σελήνης ἁρπάσαι τ ̓ εὐδοξίαν χρυσωπ ̓ ἀπ ̓ ἀργυρῶπος, ἔς τε ποντίους βυθοὺς κολυμβῶν ἔνθα μὴ κέλσει στάθμη κομῶν κατακλυσθεῖσαν ἐξανασπάσαι,

ἐφ ̓ ᾧ τὸν ἐκσώσαντα τὴν παμπησίαν
τιμῆς ἄλυπον τοῦ μεθέξοντος φορεῖν·
ἡ δ ̓ ἀμφίλεκτος ἐρρέτω κοινωνία.

THE DYING SWAN.

THE wild swan's death-hymn took the soul

Of that waste place with joy

Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear

The warble was low, and full and clear;
And floating about the under sky,

Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole
Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,

Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold;

OLOR MORIENS.

Quae loca ferali penitus dulcedine cantus cepit olor moriens. primo summissa venire murmura plorantis liquidoque arguta susurro, dum vaga depressis humili sub nubibus ala grassatur trepidando aut longe nenia serpens

aut propior: sed mox plenum increbrescere carmen

morte triumphantis, graviorque in sidera paean

mille rapi numeris et gloria fervere cantus:

As when a mighty people rejoice

With shawms and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd

Thro' the open gates of the city afar,

To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.
And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
And the willow-branches hoar and dank,

And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,

And the silvery marish-flowers that throng

The desolate creeks and pools among,

Were flooded over with eddying song.

TENNYSON.

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