The Lay of Truth |
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Author:
| Joyce, James |
ISBN: | 978-0-217-95616-1 |
Publication Date: | Aug 2009 |
Publisher: | General Books LLC
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Book Format: | Paperback |
List Price: | USD $14.14 |
Book Description:
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: CANTO III. THE WARNING. -Highly they raged Against the highest and fierce with grasped arms Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war. Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heav'n. Par. Lost. i 666. Primus init bellum Tyrrhenis asper ab oris Contemptor Divum Mezentiua, agminaque armat. Vir. /En. lib....
More DescriptionPurchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: CANTO III. THE WARNING. -Highly they raged Against the highest and fierce with grasped arms Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war. Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heav'n. Par. Lost. i 666. Primus init bellum Tyrrhenis asper ab oris Contemptor Divum Mezentiua, agminaque armat. Vir. /En. lib. vii. 647. ARGUMENT. Reason of the author's subject and style?The complaint of Euripides?Some modern poets widely different in their feelings?True end of poetry?Infidel poets described? Danger arising from their works ? Lucretius; French writers?Unsuitableness of blasphemy to the state of man? Plato's honourable dismission of the ancient poets from his republic?His presumed conduct towards some modern minstrels?Privileges of Englishmen?Invitation to investigate sacred truth?Necessity of a discipline of the heart. CANTO III. And is my voice too stern which may not speak Of battled fields, and Beauty's mantling cheek, Nor aids with festive tone the riotous hour Of thoughtless Joy, nor cheers Love's myrtle bower ? Ah me enough of these. Through every grove Resounds the ceaseless song, of war and love. Where Sorrow weeps, and Disappointment pines, Or languid Sickness on her couch reclines, Mine is the task with notes of sacred sound, To strike my harp, and heal the spirit's wound. More glad to smooth the brow of rankling care, Console the aching heart, or chase despair, Than if in courts of kings, my lyre was heard, And list'ning nations hail'd each welcome word. O Greece heard of old her pensive son complain That bards were wont to chant the inspiring strain Through crowded halls, and cheer in festive hour The ear of Joy which needed not their power. Ah partial minstrels wake some chorded tone, He cries, some hymning sound, as yet ...