Sabrinae corolla in hortulis regiae scholae Salopiensis contextuerunt tres viri floribus legendis ... |
µµ¼ º»¹®¿¡¼
5°³ÀÇ °á°ú Áß 1 - 5°³
85 ÆäÀÌÁö
Caeca tristia nuntias, Rupis incola saxeae: Ast ego ingrediens loca Sola, qvos
habitas Lares, Nescio ipsa tremorem : Ipsa nescia sum metus, Qvalecumqve
minaberis Certa pessima perpeti: Vita febris enim fugax ; Mors habet medicinam.
Caeca tristia nuntias, Rupis incola saxeae: Ast ego ingrediens loca Sola, qvos
habitas Lares, Nescio ipsa tremorem : Ipsa nescia sum metus, Qvalecumqve
minaberis Certa pessima perpeti: Vita febris enim fugax ; Mors habet medicinam.
119 ÆäÀÌÁö
Shrewsbury (England). Royal School. Docta Paupertas. Mors, geniale caput, non
adspernata vocantem, Tam vicina mihi sicine castra locas? Qvin serimus dextras
? Sociam fidamqve sororem Te tranqvilla mihi nectat amicitia. Fugit laeta salus ...
Shrewsbury (England). Royal School. Docta Paupertas. Mors, geniale caput, non
adspernata vocantem, Tam vicina mihi sicine castra locas? Qvin serimus dextras
? Sociam fidamqve sororem Te tranqvilla mihi nectat amicitia. Fugit laeta salus ...
211 ÆäÀÌÁö
Occidis; at, dum nos libertas alma tuetur, Non te mors omnem sub ditione premet.
Qvi tibi profluxit generosus corpore sangvis Non tulit indignum commaculasse
solum: Illius O nostras opulentent flumina venas, Vivat et in nostro spiritus ore ...
Occidis; at, dum nos libertas alma tuetur, Non te mors omnem sub ditione premet.
Qvi tibi profluxit generosus corpore sangvis Non tulit indignum commaculasse
solum: Illius O nostras opulentent flumina venas, Vivat et in nostro spiritus ore ...
296 ÆäÀÌÁö
Qvom mors obprimet ingruens amantem, Tu labris animam leges fugacem, Tune,
omnem gemitum premens, sereno Pulvinum exhilarabis alma risu ? Et tu
purpureis meam favillam Sparges floribus et cadente gutta, 296 SABRINAE
COROLLA.
Qvom mors obprimet ingruens amantem, Tu labris animam leges fugacem, Tune,
omnem gemitum premens, sereno Pulvinum exhilarabis alma risu ? Et tu
purpureis meam favillam Sparges floribus et cadente gutta, 296 SABRINAE
COROLLA.
326 ÆäÀÌÁö
Adspice praeclaram Musis qvam rite dicavit, Qvamqve diu cauto fovit amore
domum : Cui signata manent fidis inlustria fastis Nomina, delapso nobilitata die ;
Illa diu stabunt docti monumenta laboris: Mors tulit auctorem ; non morietur opus.
Adspice praeclaram Musis qvam rite dicavit, Qvamqve diu cauto fovit amore
domum : Cui signata manent fidis inlustria fastis Nomina, delapso nobilitata die ;
Illa diu stabunt docti monumenta laboris: Mors tulit auctorem ; non morietur opus.
´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µéÀÇ ÀÇ°ß - ¼Æò ¾²±â
¼ÆòÀ» ãÀ» ¼ö ¾ø½À´Ï´Ù.
±âŸ ÃâÆÇº» - ¸ðµÎ º¸±â
ÀÚÁÖ ³ª¿À´Â ´Ü¾î ¹× ±¸¹®
adhuc amans Amor amore atqve bright Byron caeli caelum caput Coll dark days dear death decus doth earth eyes fair flowers gaudia Gulielmus habet hand hath heart heaven Hinc hour illa ille Ioann Ioannes ipsa iter laeta Land last LIBRARY light long love luce lumina Magd mihi mile Milton Moore Mors neqve never night nunc nunqvam o'er opus procul qvae qvam Qvid Qvod qvom qvoqve rest rosa rose Schol semper Shakspeare sine sole Song soul spes sweet take tamen tellus Tempore thee there thine Thomas thou tibi time Trin UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA vale vita vitae wave wild world ¥ãά¥ñ ¥ä¥å ¥å¥í ή¥í ¥ê¥á¥é ¥ï¥ô ¥ó¥å
Àαâ Àο뱸
34 ÆäÀÌÁö - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
196 ÆäÀÌÁö - Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night With this her solemn bird and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train...
252 ÆäÀÌÁö - Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold — Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand — Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? " " Not there, not there, my child...
156 ÆäÀÌÁö - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry. Few, few shall part where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
24 ÆäÀÌÁö - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
114 ÆäÀÌÁö - Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion ; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience : for so work the honey-bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
238 ÆäÀÌÁö - Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
136 ÆäÀÌÁö - When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit; When the chestnuts glow in the embers, And the kid turns on the spit; When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close; When the girls are weaving baskets, And the lads are shaping bows...
238 ÆäÀÌÁö - THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
268 ÆäÀÌÁö - Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye Mists and Exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the world's great Author rise...