More about Virgil
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I sing of arms and the man who first from the shores of Troy came destined an exile to Italy and the Lavinian beaches, a man much buffeted on land and on the deep by force of the gods because of fierce Juno's never-forgetting anger.
Thrice would I have thrown my arms about her neck, and thrice the ghost embraced fled from my grasp: like a fluttering breeze, like a fleeting dream.
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.
Full in the midst of this infernal road,
An Elm displays her dusky arms abroad;
The God of Sleep there hides his heavy head
And empty dreams on every leaf are spread.
I Sing Of Arms And Of A Man:
Had Made Him Fugitive:
he was the first
to journey from the coasts of Troy as far
as Italy and the Lavinian shores
Across the lands and waters he was battered
beneath the violence of the high ones for
the savage Juno's unforgetting anger.
If men and mortal arms ye slight,
Know there are gods who watch o'er right.
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.
Quote of the day
Truth does not sit in a cave and hide like a lie. It wanders around proudly and roars loudly like a lion.
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