Dire lust of gold! how mighty thy controll

And while the memory of self remains, While life's warm spirit quickens in my veins, Still shall your worth be treasured in my breast; And still Elissa's virtues be confess'd.

O! trust not to the horse, my Trojan Friends! Whate'er it means, it means but to deceive. I dread the Grecians even when they give.

Arms, and the man who first, by Fate's command, From Ilion flying, sought Italia's strand, And gain'd Lavinium, are my themes of song. Long toss'd by waves, on land he suffer'd long: From power supernal, such his doom of woe; Pursued by …

Hard is the task, O Queen! that you impose, To tear my bosom with reviving woes.

As it is generally seen, blank verse seems to be only a laborious and doubtful struggle to escape from the fangs of prose... if it ever ventures to relax into simple and natural phraseology, it instantly becomes tame and the prey of its …

Yet have I lived!—and lived for noble ends! My shade in glory to the shades descends.