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Document Max. Freq Min. Freq
Herodotus, The Histories (ed. A. D. Godley) 22 0 Browse Search
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams) 10 0 Browse Search
Richard Hakluyt, The Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques, and Discoveries of the English Nation 10 0 Browse Search
Apollodorus, Library and Epitome (ed. Sir James George Frazer) 8 0 Browse Search
World English Bible (ed. Rainbow Missions, Inc., Rainbow Missions, Inc.; revision of the American Standard Version of 1901) 6 0 Browse Search
P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses (ed. Brookes More) 4 0 Browse Search
Homer, Odyssey 4 0 Browse Search
Polybius, Histories 4 0 Browse Search
Homer, The Iliad (ed. Samuel Butler) 4 0 Browse Search
P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses (ed. Arthur Golding) 4 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams). You can also browse the collection for Sidon (Lebanon) or search for Sidon (Lebanon) in all documents.

Your search returned 5 results in 5 document sections:

P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams), Book 1, line 613 (search)
Sidonian Dido felt her heart stand still when first she looked on him; and thrilled again to hear what vast adventure had befallen so great a hero. Thus she welcomed him: “What chance, O goddess-born, o'er danger's path impels? What power to this wild coast has borne? Art thou Aeneas, great Anchises' son, whom lovely Venus by the Phrygian stream of Simois brought forth unto the day? Now I bethink me of when Teucer came to Sidon, exiled, and of Belus' power desired a second throne. For Belus then, our worshipped sire, despoiled the teeming land of Cyprus, as its conqueror and king. And since that hour I oft have heard the tale of fallen Troy, of thine own noble name, and of Achaean kings. Teucer was wont, although their foe, to praise the Teucrian race, and boasted him of that proud lineage sprung. Therefore, behold, our portals are swung wide for all your company. I also bore hard fate like thine. I too was driven of storms and after long toil was allowed at last to call this land my
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams), Book 4, line 54 (search)
e feels quick in her breast the viewless, voiceless wound. Ill-fated Dido ranges up and down the spaces of her city, desperate her life one flame—like arrow-stricken doe through Cretan forest rashly wandering, pierced by a far-off shepherd, who pursues with shafts, and leaves behind his light-winged steed, not knowing; while she scours the dark ravines of Dicte and its woodlands; at her heart the mortal barb irrevocably clings. around her city's battlements she guides aeneas, to make show of Sidon's gold, and what her realm can boast; full oft her voice essays to speak and frembling dies away: or, when the daylight fades, she spreads anew a royal banquet, and once more will plead mad that she is, to hear the Trojan sorrow; and with oblivious ravishment once more hangs on his lips who tells; or when her guests are scattered, and the wan moon's fading horn bedims its ray, while many a sinking star invites to slumber, there she weeps alone in the deserted hall, and casts her down on the
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams), Book 4, line 522 (search)
hall I sail on Ilian ships away, and sink to be the Trojans' humble thrall? Do they rejoice that once I gave them bread? Lives gratitude in hearts like theirs for bygone kindnesses? O, who, if so I stooped, would deign to bear on yon proud ships the scorned and fallen Queen? Lost creature! Woe betide thee! Knowest thou not the perjured children of Laomedon? What way is left? Should I take flight alone and join the revelling sailors? Or depart with Tyrians, the whole attending train of my own people? Hard the task to force their hearts from Sidon's towers; how once more compel to sea, and bid them spread the sail? Nay, perish! Thou hast earned it. Let the sword from sorrow save thee! Sister of my blood— who else but thee,—my own tears borne down, didst heap disaster on my frantic soul, and fling me to this foe? Why could I not pass wedlock by, and live a blameless life as wild things do, nor taste of passion's pain? But I broke faith! I cast the vows away made at Sichaeus' grav
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams), Book 4, line 659 (search)
deed the dire intent of altars, Iofty couch, and funeral fires? What shall I tell for chiefest of my woes? Lost that I am! Why, though in death, cast off thy sister from thy heart? Why not invite one mortal stroke for both, a single sword, one agony together? But these hands built up thy pyre; and my voice implored the blessing of our gods, who granted me that thou shouldst perish thus—and I not know! In thy self-slaughter, sister, thou hast slain myself, thy people, the grave counsellors of Sidon, and yon city thou didst build to be thy throne!—Go, fetch me water, there! That I may bathe those gashes! If there be one hovering breath that stays, let my fond lips discover and receive!” So saying, she sprang up from stair to stair, and, clasping to her breast her sister's dying form, moaned grievously, and staunched the dark blood with her garment's fold. Vainly would Dido lift her sinking eyes, but backward fell, while at her heart the wound opened afresh; three times with straining ar<
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams), Book 5, line 545 (search)
n each bright brow a well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound; two javelins of corner tipped with steel each bore for arms; some from the shoulder slung a polished quiver; to each bosom fell a pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold. Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proud prance here and there, assiduous in command, each of his twelve, who shine in parted lines which lesser captains lead. One cohort proud follows a little Priam's royal name — one day, Polites, thy illustrious race through him prolonged, shall greater glory bring to Italy. A dappled Thracian steed with snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snow bears him along, its white face lifted high. Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to be of th' Atian house in Rome, a boy most dear unto the boy Iulus; last in line, and fairest of the throng, Iulus came, astride a steed from Sidon, the fond gift of beauteous Dido and her pledge of love. Close followed him the youthful chivalry of King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds