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Belts from Jupiter's own factory, Mercury from Maia's Son; And when summers look refractory, Bottled sunbeams from the sun. If too soaring, too seraphic, Seems to some that heavenward track, T'other way there's much more traffic, Though not many travel back. What a gradient through Avernus! What a curve will Hades take! When with joy the Shades discern us, How Hell's terminus will shake!
So speaking, he sends Maia's son down from above, that the land and towers of Carthage, the new town, may receive the Trojans with open welcome; lest Dido, ignorant of doom, might debar them her land. Flying through the depth of air on winged oarage, the fleet messenger alights on the Libyan coasts.
His genius breathed 'vernal delight and joy. 'Like Maia's son he stood and shook his plumes, with fragrance filled. His mind was redolent of spring. He had not the fierceness of summer, nor the richness of autumn, and winter he seemed not to have known till he felt the icy hand of death! No notes for this essay.
To Ibsen character is destiny, and the persons of his plays seem to have created, by their own natural proceeding, the predicaments in which they are immeshed. Ibsen is particularly happy in the subordinate devices by which he reveals character, for example, Maia's taking off the green shade when the Master-Builder enters the room.
Wherefore would that thou shouldst endure to swear me the great oath of the Gods, with a nod of the head or by the showering waters of Styx, that thy doings shall ever to my heart be kind and dear." Then, with a nod of his head, did Maia's son vow that never would he steal the possessions of the Far-darter, nor draw nigh his strong dwelling. That lies in the mind of Zeus alone.
Thereat Phoebus Apollo laughed and was glad, and the winsome note passed through to his very soul as he heard. Then Maia's son took courage, and sweetly harping with his harp he stood at Apollo's left side, playing his prelude, and thereon followed his winsome voice. He sang the renowns of the deathless Gods, and the dark Earth, how all things were at the first, and how each God gat his portion.
I had read Governor Trumbull's description of the tarring and feathering of his hero MacFingal, when, after the application of the melted tar, the feather-bed was ripped open and shaken over him, until "Not Maia's son, with wings for ears, Such plumes about his visage wears, Nor Milton's six-winged angel gathers Such superfluity of feathers,"
I had read Governor Trumbull's description of the tarring and feathering of his hero MacFingal, when, after the application of the melted tar, the feather-bed was ripped open and shaken over him, until "Not Maia's son, with wings for ears, Such plumes about his visage wears, Nor Milton's six-winged angel gathers Such superfluity of feathers,"
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