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Polybius, Histories 296 0 Browse Search
Diodorus Siculus, Library 36 0 Browse Search
Aristotle, Politics 22 0 Browse Search
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. John Dryden) 22 0 Browse Search
M. Tullius Cicero, Orations, for Quintius, Sextus Roscius, Quintus Roscius, against Quintus Caecilius, and against Verres (ed. C. D. Yonge) 18 0 Browse Search
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams) 18 0 Browse Search
Flavius Josephus, Against Apion (ed. William Whiston, A.M.) 18 0 Browse Search
Pausanias, Description of Greece 12 0 Browse Search
Sallust, The Jugurthine War (ed. John Selby Watson, Rev. John Selby Watson, M.A.) 12 0 Browse Search
Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War 10 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington). You can also browse the collection for Carthage (Tunisia) or search for Carthage (Tunisia) in all documents.

Your search returned 5 results in 3 document sections:

Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 3, Poem 5 (search)
And armour, ne'er a blood-drop shed, Stripp'd from the soldier; I have seen Free sons of Rome with arms fast tied; The fields we spoil'd with corn are green, And Carthage opes her portals wide. The warrior, sure, redeem'd by gold, Will fight the bolder! Aye, you heap On baseness loss. The hues of old Revisit not the wool we steepl'd by fear, Returns not to the worthless slave. Break but her meshes, will the deer Assail you? then will he be brave Who once to faithless foes has knelt; Yes, Carthage yet his spear will fly, Who with bound arms the cord has felt, The coward, and has fear'd to die. He knows not, he, how life is won; Thinks war, like peace, a thing of trade! Great art thou, Carthage! mate the sun, While Italy in dust is laid!” His wife's pure kiss he waved aside, And prattling boys, as one disgraced, They tell us, and with manly pride Stern on the ground his visage placed. With counsel thus ne'er else aread He nerved the fathers' weak intent, And, girt by friends that mo
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 4 (search)
ed. Then the false Libyan own'd his doom:— “Weak deer, the wolves' predestined prey, Blindly we rush on foes, from whom 'Twere triumph won to steal away. That race which, strong from Ilion's fires, Its gods, on Tuscan waters tost, Its sons, its venerable sires, Bore to Ausonia's citied coast; That race, like oak by axes shorn On Algidus with dark leaves rife, Laughs carnage, havoc, all to scorn, And draws new spirit from the knife. Not the lopp'd Hydra task'd so sore Alcides, chafing at the foil: No pest so fell was born of yore From Colchian or from Theban soil. Plunged in the deep, it mounts to sight More splendid: grappled, it will quell Unbroken powers, and fight a fight Whose story widow'd wives shall tell. No heralds shall my deeds proclaim To Carthage now: lost, lost is all: A nation's hope, a nation's name, They died with dying Hasdrubal.” What will not Claudian hands achieve? Jove's favour is their guiding star, And watchful potencies unweave For them the tangled paths o
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 4, Poem 8 (search)
bestow'd As cunning Scopas or Parrhasius wrought, This with the brush, that with the chisel taught To image now a mortal, now a god. But these are not my riches: your desire Such luxury craves not, and your means disdain: A poet's strain you love; a poet's strain Accept, and learn the value of the lyre. Not public gravings on a marble base, Whence comes a second life to men of might E'en in the tomb: not Hannibal's swift flight, Nor those fierce threats flung back into his face, Not impious Carthage in its last red blaze, In clearer light sets forth his spotless fame, Who from crush'd Afric took away—a name, Than rude Calabria's tributary lays. Let silence hide the good your hand has wrought, Farewell, reward! Had blank oblivion's power Dimm'd the bright deeds of Romulus, at this hour, Despite his sire and mother, he were nought. Thus Aeacus has 'scaped the Stygian wave, By grace of poets and their silver tongue, Henceforth to live the happy isles among. No, trust the Muse: she opes th