The same.
Know'st thou the creature, that a tiny brood
Within her bosom keeps securely mew'd?
Though voiceless all, beyond the ocean wide
To distant realms their still small voices glide.
Far, far away, whome'er t' address they seek
Will understand, yet no one hears them speak.
F. Metcalfe.
Theodectes. (Book x. § 75, p. 713.)
A thing whose match, or in the depths profound
Of ocean, or on earth, can ne'er be found;
Cast in no mortal mould its growth of limb
Dame Nature orders by the strangest whim.
'Tis born, and lo! a giant form appears;
Toward middle age a smaller size it wears;
And now again, its day of life nigh o'er,
How wonderful gigantic as before.—F. Metcalfe.
Theodectes. (Book x. § 75, p. 713.)
We're sisters twain, one dying bears the other:
She too expires, and so brings forth her mother.
F. Metcalfe.
Xenophanes. (Book xi. § 7, p. 729.)
The ground is swept, and the triclinium clean,
The hands are purified, the goblets too
Well rinsed, each guest upon his forehead bears
A wreathed flow'ry crown; from slender vase
A willing youth presents to each in turn
A sweet and costly perfume; while the bowl,
Emblem of joy and social mirth, stands by,
Fill'd to the brim; another pours out wine
Of most delicious flavour, breathing round
Fragrance of flowers, and honey newly made;
