Электронная книга - «The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]». Краткое содержание книги:
Антология содержит: The World's Greatest Books — Volume 01 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 02 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 03 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 04 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 05 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 06 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 07 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 08 — Fiction от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 09 — Lives and Letters от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 10 — Lives and Letters от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 11 — Ancient and Mediæval History от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 12 — Modern History от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 13 — Religion and Philosophy от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 14 — Philosophy and Economics от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 15 — Science от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 17 — Poetry and Drama от Неизвестный The world's greatest books от Mee, Arthur, 1875-1943, joint editor & Hammerton, John Alexander, Sir, 1871-1949, joint editor & McClure, S. S. (Samuel Sidney), 1857-1949, joint editor The World's Greatest Books — Volume 19 — Travel and Adventure от Неизвестный The World's Greatest Books — Volume 20 — Miscellaneous Literature and Index от Неизвестный
Then the rest cried out upon him with threats, while they made vain search for weapons in the hall.
He, frowning, said, "Dogs, see in me the man
Ye all held dead at Troy. My house it is
That thus ye spoil, and thus your luxuries
Fill with my women's rapes; in which ye woo
The wife of one that lives, and no thought show
Of man's fit fear, or gods', your present fame,
Or any fair sense of your future name;
And, therefore, present and eternal death
Shall end your base life."
Then the Wooers made at Ulysses and Telemachus, who smote down first Eurymachus and then Amphinomus. But a way to the armoury having been left, the Wooers got arms by aid of a traitor; whom Eumæus and Philoetius smote, and then came to Ulysses and his son. Moreover, Pallas also came to their help; so that the Wooers, being routed—
Ulysses and his son the flyers chased
As when, with crooked beaks and seres, a cast
Of hill-bred eagles, cast off at some game,
That yet their strengths keep, but, put up, in flame
The eagle stoops; from which, along the field
The poor fowls make wing this and that way yield
Their hard-flown pinions, then the clouds assay
For 'scape or shelter, their forlorn dismay
All spirit exhaling, all wings strength to carry
Their bodies forth, and, truss'd up, to the quarry
Their falconers ride in, and rejoice to see
Their hawks perform a flight so fervently;
So in their flight Ulysses with his heir
Did stoop and cuff the Wooers, that the air
Broke in vast sighs, whose heads they shot and cleft,
The pavement boiling with the souls they reft.
Now all the Wooers were slain, and they of the household that were their accomplices; and the chamber was purified.
Then first did tears ensue
Her rapt assurance; when she ran and spread
Her arms about his neck, kiss'd oft his head.
He wept for joy, t'enjoy a wife so fit
For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit.
But as for the Wooers, Hermes gathered the souls of them together, and, as bats gibbering in a cavern rise, so came they forth gibbering and went down to the House of Hades.
FOOTNOTES:
[G] Of the "Odyssey" it may be said with certainty that its composition was later than that of the "Iliad," but it cannot be affirmed that both poems were not composed within the life-time of one man. It may be claimed that the best criticism declines to reject the identity of authorship of the poet of the "Iliad" and the poet of the "Odyssey," while admitting the probability that the work of other poets was incorporated in his. We have given our readers the translation by George Chapman, Shakespeare's contemporary, with which may be compared the fine modern prose translation by Professor Butcher and Mr. Andrew Lang. On the other hand, Alexander Pope's verse rendering has nothing Homeric about it. It may be regretted that Chapman did not in the "Odyssey" retain the swinging metre which he used in the "Iliad." The poem relates the adventures of Odysseus (latinised into Ulysses) on his homeward voyages, after the fall of Troy.
HORACE[H]
Poems
Satires
HUMAN DISCONTENT
Whence is it, sir, that none contented lives
With the fair lot which prudent reason gives,
Or chance presents, yet all with envy view
The schemes that others variously pursue?
Broken with toils, with ponderous arms oppressed,
The soldier thinks the merchant solely blest.
In opposite extreme, when tempests rise,
"War is a better choice," the merchant cries.
When early clients thunder at his gate,
Te barrister applauds the rustic's fate;
While, by sub-poenas dragged from home, the clown
Thinks the supremely happy dwell in town!
Not to be tedious, mark the moral aim
Of these examples. Should some god proclaim,
"Your prayers are heard: you, soldier, to your seas;
You, lawyer, take that envied rustic's ease,—
Each to his several part—What! Ha! not move
Even to the bliss you wished!" And shall not Jove,
With cheeks inflamed and angry brow, forswear
A weak indulgence to their future prayer?
AVARICE
Some, self-deceived, who think their lust of gold
Is but a love of fame, this maxim hold,
"No fortune is enough, since others rate
Our worth proportioned to a large estate."
Say, for their cure what arts would you employ?
Let them be wretched, and their choice enjoy.
Would you the real use of riches know?
Bread, herbs, and wine are all they can bestow.
Or add, what nature's deepest wants supplies;
These and no more thy mass of money buys.
But with continual watching almost dead,
Housebreaking thieves, and midnight fires to dread,
Or the suspected slave's untimely flight
With the dear pelf—if this be thy delight,
Be it my fate, so heaven in bounty please,
Still to be poor of blessings such as these!
A PARAGON OF INCONSISTENCY
Nothing was of a piece in the whole man:
Sometimes he like a frightened coward ran,
Whose foes are at his heels; now soft and slow
He moved, like folks who in procession go.
Now with two hundred slaves he crowds his train;
Now walks with ten. In high and haughty strain,
At morn, of kings and governors he prates;
At night, "A frugal table, O ye Fates,
A little shell the sacred salt to hold,
And clothes, though coarse, to keep from me the cold."
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