Gleanings from the Harvest-Fields of Literature: A Melange of Excerpta
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Gleanings from the Harvest-Fields of Literature: A Melange of Excerpta
Literary curiosa; Literature -- Dictionaries
(Blackskin, you know, never feels, how sweet, ’tis pro patria mori;
Ovid had him in view when he said, “Nimium ne crede colori.”)
Now swiftly they pull towards the monster, who seeing the cutter and gig
nigh,
Glares at them with terrible eyes, suffectis sanguine et igni,
And, never conceiving their chief will so quickly deal him a floorer,
Opens wide to receive them at once, his linguis vibrantibis ora;
But just as he’s licking his lips, and gladly preparing to taste ’em,
Straight into his eyeball the skipper stridentem conjicit hastam.
Straight as he feels in his eyeball the lance, growing mightly sulky,
At ’em he comes in a rage, ora minax, lingua trusulca.
“Starn all,” cry the sailors at once, for they think he has certainly
caught ’em,
Præsentemque viris intentant omnia mortem.
But the bold skipper exclaims, “O terque quaterque beati!
Now with a will dare viam, when I want you, be only parati;
This hoss feels like raising his hair, and in spite of his scaly old
cortex,
Full soon you shall see that his corpse rapidus vorat æquore vortex.”
Hoc ait, and choosing a lance: “With this one I think I shall hit it,
He cries, and straight into his mouth, ad intima viscera mittit.”
Screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum,
As if all its waves had been lashed in a tempest por Eurum et Notum.
Interea terrible shindy Neptunus sensit, et alto
Prospiciens sadly around, wiped his eye with the cuff of his paletôt;
And, mad at his favorite’s fate, of oaths uttered one or two thousand,
Such as “Corpo di Bacco! Mehercle! Sacre! Mille Tonnerres! Potztausend!”
But the skipper, who thought it was time to this terrible fight dare
finem,
With a scalping-knife jumps on the neck of the snake secat et dextrâ
crinem,
And hurling the scalp in the air, half mad with delight to possess it,
Shouts “Darn it—I’ve fixed up his flint, for in ventos vita recessit!”
Concatenation or Chain Verse.
LASPHRISE’S NOVELTIES.
Lasphrise, a French poet of considerable merit, claims the invention of
several singularities in verse, and among them the following, in which
it will be found that the last word of every line is the first word of
the following line:—
Falloit-il que le ciel me rendit amoureux,
Amoureaux, jouissant d’une beauté craintive,
Craintive à recevoir douceur excessive,
Excessive au plaisir qui rend l’amant heureux?
Heureux si nous avions quelques paisibles lieux,
Lieux où plus surement l’ami fidèle arrive,
Arrive sans soupçon de quelque ami attentive,
Attentive à vouloir nous surprendre tous deux.
Subjoined are examples in our own vernacular:—
TO DEATH.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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