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Where brave Manlius stood, And hurl'd indignant decads down, And redden'd Tyber's flood. People have never done contradicting Burnet, who says, in his travels, that a man might jump down it now and not do himself much harm: the truth is, its present appearance is not formidable; but I believe it is not less than forty feet high at this moment, though the ground is greatly raised.
Eve yields to night, the breeze to wintry gales, In one vast shade the seas and shores repose; He turns his aching eyes, his spirit fails, The chill tear falls; sad to the deck he goes! The storm of midnight swells, the sails are furl'd, Deep sounds the lead, but finds no friendly shore, Fast o'er the waves the wretched bark is hurl'd, 'O Ellen, Ellen! we must meet no more!
No king so great, nor prince so strong, But death can make to yield, Yea, bind and lay them all along, And make them quit the field. 3. Where are the victors of the world, With all their men of might? Those that together kingdoms hurl'd, By death are put to flight. 4. How feeble is the strongest hand, When death begins to gripe! The giant now leaves off to stand, Much less withstand and fight. 5.
At this he hurl'd his huge limbs out of bed, And shook his drowsy squire awake and cried, 'My charger and her palfrey'; then to her, 'I will ride forth into the wilderness; For tho' it seems my spurs are yet to win, I have not fall'n so low as some would wish.
"live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind, For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world: Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight of famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging fights and flaming towns, and sinking ships and pray- ing hands.
He would not be a thrall, and the result as described by the republican Milton was truly disastrous: "Him the Almighty Power Hurl'd headlong down to bottomless perdition Region of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell."
'Twas Anthony that fac'd me, with his heel against the wainscoting, and, catching my cry of alarm, he call'd out cheerfully over the Captain's shoulder, but without lifting his eyes "Just in time, Jack! Take off the second cur, that's a sweet boy!" Now I carried no sword; but seizing the tankard from the potboy's hand, I hurl'd it at the dog-fac'd trooper.
I need not point the moral of my tale. "The desert gave him visions wild The midnight wind came wild and dread, Swell'd with the voices of the dead; Far on the future battle-heath His eye beheld the ranks of death: Thus the lone seer, from mankind hurl'd, Shap'd forth a disembodied world."
"At last the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phoebus fresh, as brydegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie hayre, And hurl'd his glist'ring beams through gloomy ayre: Which when the wakeful elfe perceived, streightway He started up, and did him selfe prepayre In sun-bright armes and battailous array; For with that pagan proud he combat will that day."
"When the spectators are address'd, Then is the time for Slug to rest From his high lot he can't be hurl'd, To feel toward the wicked world; So he will sit with closed eyes Until the congregation rise; And when the labor we commence, He moves with such a stupid sense It often makes spectators stare To see so dead a creature there."
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