Virgil - Aeneid

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But Aetna hard at hand With hideous ruin thunders, and anon Shoots a dark cloud to heaven or whirling smoke Pitch-black, with glowing ashes, and aloft Heaves balls of fire, and licks the stars, anon Rocks and the uptorn entrails of the hill Spews forth, and heaps the molten stones in air Booming, and from his lowest depth upboils.

Virgil
At which my memory with grief recoils.

Virgil
He follows his father, but not with equal steps.

Virgil
Each burns alike with frantic zeal
To end the quarrel by the steel.

Virgil
Along the illimitable shade
Darkling and lone their way they made,
Through the vast kingdom of the dead,
An empty void, though tenanted.

Virgil
There in the bottom of the pit
Sits Theseus, and will ever sit.

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

Virgil
And in the heart's yet quivering strings
Spells out the lore of hidden things.

Virgil
Perhaps someday it will be pleasant to remember even this.

Virgil
A monster horrendous, hideous and vast, deprived of sight.

Virgil
Time, toil, and circumstance full oft
A humbled cause have raised aloft,
And Fortune whom she mocked before
Has placed on solid ground once more.

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

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

Virgil
Hail, mighty firstling of the dead;
Hail and farewell for aye!

Virgil
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.

Virgil
Through the friendly silence of the soundless moonlight.

Virgil
Fury and wrath within me rave,
And tempt me to a warrior's grave.

Virgil
Turnus, what never god would dare
To promise to his suppliant's prayer,
Lo here, the lapse of time has brought
E'en to your hands, unasked, unsought.

Virgil
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.

Virgil
If strength like mine be yet too weak,
I care not whose the aid I seek:
What choice 'twixt under and above?
If Heaven be firm, the shades shall move.

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

Virgil
The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,
And aid, with eager shouts, the favored side.
Cries, murmurs, clamors, with a mixing sound,
From woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound.

Virgil
Fear is the proof of a degenerate mind.

Virgil
So vast was the struggle to found the Roman state.

Virgil
Unspeakable, O Queen, is the sorrow you bid me renew.

Virgil