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Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War 68 0 Browse Search
Diodorus Siculus, Library 30 0 Browse Search
Herodotus, The Histories (ed. A. D. Godley) 24 0 Browse Search
Apollodorus, Library and Epitome (ed. Sir James George Frazer) 16 0 Browse Search
M. Annaeus Lucanus, Pharsalia (ed. Sir Edward Ridley) 14 0 Browse Search
Pausanias, Description of Greece 12 0 Browse Search
Homer, The Iliad (ed. Samuel Butler) 8 0 Browse Search
Antiphon, Speeches (ed. K. J. Maidment) 6 0 Browse Search
Homer, Odyssey 6 0 Browse Search
P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses (ed. Arthur Golding) 6 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 Lesbos (Greece) or search for Lesbos (Greece) in all documents.

Your search returned 2 results in 2 document sections:

Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 1, Poem 7 (search)
Let others Rhodes or Mytilene sing, Or Ephesus, or Corinth, set between Two seas, or Thebes, or Delphi, for its king Each famous, or Thessalian Tempe green; There are who make chaste Pallas' virgin tower The daily burden of unending song, And search for wreaths the olive's rifled bower: The praise of Juno sounds from many a tongue, Telling of Argos' steeds, Mycenae's gold. For me stern Sparta forges no such spell, No, nor Larissa's plain of richest mould, As bright Albunea echoing from her cell. O headlong Anio! O Tiburnian groves, And orchards saturate with shifting streams! Look how the clear fresh south from heaven removes The tempest, nor with rain perpetual teems! You too be wise, my Plancus: life's worst cloud Will melt in air, by mellow wine allay'd, Dwell you in camps, with glittering banners proud, Or 'neath your Tibur's canopy of shade. When Teucer fled before his father's frown From Salamis, they say his temples deep He dipp'd in wine, then wreath'd with poplar crown, And
Q. Horatius Flaccus (Horace), Odes (ed. John Conington), Book 1, Poem 32 (search)
They call;—if aught in shady dell We twain have warbled, to remain Long months or years, now breathe, my shell, A Roman strain, Thou, strung by Lesbos' minstrel hand, The bard, who 'mid the clash of steel, Or haply mooring to the strand His batter'd keel, Of Bacchus and the Muses sung, And Cupid, still at Venus' side, And Lycus, beautiful and young, Dark-hair'd, dark-eyed. O sweetest lyre, to Phoebus dear, Delight of Jove's high festival, Blest balm in trouble, hail and hear Whene'er I cal