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Document | Max. Freq | Min. Freq | ||
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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 |
P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses (ed. Arthur Golding) | 6 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Homer, The Odyssey (ed. Samuel Butler, Based on public domain edition, revised by Timothy Power and Gregory Nagy.) | 6 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Antiphon, Speeches (ed. K. J. Maidment) | 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:
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
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