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Document | Max. Freq | Min. Freq | ||
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Herodotus, The Histories (ed. A. D. Godley) | 44 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Xenophon, Cyropaedia (ed. Walter Miller) | 20 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Pausanias, Description of Greece | 14 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Xenophon, Anabasis (ed. Carleton L. Brownson) | 10 | 0 | Browse | Search |
P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses (ed. Brookes More) | 10 | 0 | Browse | Search |
John Conington, Commentary on Vergil's Aeneid, Volume 2 | 8 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Diodorus Siculus, Library | 6 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Isocrates, Speeches (ed. George Norlin) | 6 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Andocides, Speeches | 4 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Richard Hakluyt, The Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques, and Discoveries of the English Nation | 4 | 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 Lydia (Turkey) or search for Lydia (Turkey) in all documents.
Your search returned 2 results in 2 document sections:
Lydia, by all above,
Why bear so hard on Sybaris, to ruin him with love?
What change has made him shun
The playing-ground, who once so well could bear the dust and sun?
Why does he never sit
On horseback in his company, nor with uneven bit
His Gallic courser tame?
Why dreads he yellow Tiber, as 'twould sully that fair frame?
Like poison loathes the oil,
His arms no longer black and blue with honourable toil,
He who erewhile was known
For quoit or javelin oft and oft beyond the limit thrown?
Why skulks he, as they say
Did Thetis' son before the dawn of Ilion's fatal day,
For fear the manly dress
Should fling him into danger's arms, amid the
Lycian press?
Telephus—you praise him still,
His waxen arms, his rosy-tinted neck;
Ah! and all the while I thrill
With jealous pangs I cannot, cannot check
See, my colour comes and goes,
My poor heart flutters, Lydia, and the dew,
Down my cheek soft stealing, shows
What lingering torments rack me through and through.
Oh, 'tis agony te see
Those snowwhite shoulders scarr'd in drunken fray,
Or those ruby lips, where he
Has left strange marks, that show how rough his play!
Never, never look to find
A faithful heart in him whose rage can harm
Sweetest lips, which Venus kind
Has tinctured with her quintessential charm.
Happy, happy; happy they
Whose living love, untroubled by all strife,
Binds them till the last sad day,
Nor parts asunder but with parting lif