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In hot haste the youthful band leaps forth on the Hesperian shore; some seek the seeds of flame hidden in veins of flint, some despoil the woods, the thick coverts of game, and point to new-found streams. But loyal Aeneas seeks the heights, where Apollo sits enthroned, and a vast cavern hard by, hidden haunt of the dread Sibyl, into whom the Delian seer breathes a mighty mind and soul, revealing the future. Now they pass under the grove of Trivia and the roof of gold. Here first restored to earth, he dedicated to thee, Phoebus, the orange of his wings and built a vast temple. On the doors is the death of Androgeos; then the children of Cecrops, bidden, alas, to pay as yearly tribute seven living sons; there stands the urn, the lots now drawn. Now it were better to sacrifice seven bullocks from the unbroken herd, and as many ewes fitly chosen.


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Meanings and origins of Australian words and idioms

In hot haste the youthful band leaps forth on the Hesperian shore; some seek the seeds of flame hidden in veins of flint, some despoil the woods, the thick coverts of game, and point to new-found streams. But loyal Aeneas seeks the heights, where Apollo sits enthroned, and a vast cavern hard by, hidden haunt of the dread Sibyl, into whom the Delian seer breathes a mighty mind and soul, revealing the future.

Now they pass under the grove of Trivia and the roof of gold. Here first restored to earth, he dedicated to thee, Phoebus, the orange of his wings and built a vast temple. On the doors is the death of Androgeos; then the children of Cecrops, bidden, alas, to pay as yearly tribute seven living sons; there stands the urn, the lots now drawn. Now it were better to sacrifice seven bullocks from the unbroken herd, and as many ewes fitly chosen.

For till then the mighty mouths of the awestruck house will not gape open. And you, most holy prophetess, who foreknow the future, grant — I ask no realm unpledged by my fate — that the Teucrians may rest in Latium, with the wandering gods and storm-tossed powers of Troy.

You also a stately shrine awaits in our realm; for here I will place your oracles and mystic utterances, told to my people, and ordain chosen men, O gracious one. Only trust not your verses to leaves, lest they fly in disorder, the sport of rushing winds; chant them yourself, I pray. Yet they shall not also rejoice in their coming. Wars, grim wars I see, and the Tiber foaming with streams of blood.

You will not lack a Simois, nor a Xanthus, nor a Doric camp. The cause of all this Trojan woe is again an alien bride, again a foreign marriage! Yield not to ills, but go forth all the bolder to face them as far as your destiny will allow!

The road to safety, little though you think it, shall first issue from a Grecian city. He, the partner of my journey, endured with me all the seas and all the menace of ocean and sky, weak as he was, beyond the strength and portion of age. He is was who prayed and charged me humbly to seek you and draw near to your threshold. Pity both son and sire, I beseech you, gracious one; for you are all-powerful, and not in vain did Hecate make you mistress in the groves of Avernus.

Some few, whom kindly Jupiter has loved, or shining worth uplifted to heaven, sons of the gods, have availed. In all the mid-space lie woods, and Cocytus girds it, gliding with murky folds. But if such love is in your heart — if such a yearning, twice to swim the Stygian lake, twice to see black Tartarus — and if you are pleased to give rein to the mad endeavour, hear what must first be done. There lurks in a shady tree a bough, golden leaf and pliant stem, held consecrate to nether Juno [Proserpine]; this all the grove hides, and shadows veil in the dim valleys.

This has beautiful Proserpine ordained to be borne to her as her own gift. When the first is torn away, a second fails not, golden too, and the spray bears leaf of the selfsame ore. Search then with eyes aloft and, when found, duly pluck it with your hand; for of itself will it follow you, freely and with ease, if Fate be calling you; else with no force will you avail to win it or rend it with hard steel.

Moreover, there lies the dead body of your friend — ah, you know it not! Bear him first to his own place and hide him in the tomb. Lead black cattle; be these your first peace offerings. Only so will you survey the Stygian groves and realms the living may not tread. At his side goes loyal Achates, and plants his steps under a like load of care. Much varied discourse were they weaving, each with each — of what dead comrade spoke the soothsayer, of what body for burial?

Yet on that day, while by chance he made the seas ring with his hollow shell — madman — and with his blare calls the gods to contest, jealous Triton, if the tale can win belief, caught and plunged him in the foaming waves amid the rocks. So, with loud lament, all were mourning round him, good Aeneas foremost. They pass into the forest primeval, the deep lairs of beasts; down drop the pitchy pines, and the ilex rings to the stroke of the axe; ashen logs and splintering oak are cleft with wedges, and from the mountains they roll down huge ash trees.

For all things truly — ah, too truly — did the seer say of you, Misenus. And you, goddess-mother, fail not my dark hour! As eyes could keep them within sight; then, when they came to the jaws of noisome Avernus, they swiftly rise and, dropping through the unclouded air, perch side by side on their chosen goal — a tree, through whose branches flashed the contrasting glimmer of gold. Forthwith Aeneas plucks it and greedily breaks off the clinging bough, and carries it beneath the roof of the prophetic Sibyl.

And first they raise a huge pyre, rich with pitchy pine and oaken logs. Its sides they entwine with somber foliage, set in front funereal cypresses, and adorn it above with gleaming arms. Some heat water, setting cauldrons bubbling on the flames, and wash and anoint the cold body.

Loud is the wailing; then, their weeping done, they lay his limbs upon the couch, and over them cast purple robes, the familiar dress. Some shouldered the heavy bier — sad ministry — and in ancestral fashion, with averted eyes, held the torch below.

The gifts were piled up in the blaze — frankincense, viands, and bowls of flowing oil. After the ashes fell in and the flame died away, they washed with wine the remnant of thirsty dust, and Corynaeus, gathering the bones, hid them in a brazen urn. He, too, with pure water thrice encircled his comrades and cleansed them, sprinkling light dew from a fruitful olive bough, and spoke the words of farewell. A deep cave there was, yawning wide and vast, of jagged rock, and sheltered by dark lake and woodland gloom, over which no flying creatures could safely wing their way; such a vapour from those black jaws was wafted to the vaulted sky whence the Greeks spoke of Avernus, the Birdless Place.

Here first the priestess set in line four dark-backed heifers, and pours wine upon their brows; then, plucking the topmost bristles from between the horns, lays them on the sacred fire for first offering, calling aloud on Hecate, supreme both in Heaven and in Hell. Others set knives to the throat and catch the warm blood in bowls.

Aeneas himself slays with the sword a black-fleeced lamb to the mother [Night] of the Eumenides and her great sister [Earth], and to you, Proserpine, a barren heifer. Then for the Stygian king he inaugurates an altar by night, and lays upon the flames whole carcasses of bulls, pouring fat oil over the blazing entrails.

But just before the rays and dawning of the early sun the ground rumbled underfoot, the wooded ridges began to quiver, and through the gloom dogs seemed to howl as the goddess [Hecate] drew nigh.

And you, rush on the road and unsheathe your sword! Now, Aeneas, is the hour for courage, now for a dauntless heart! You voiceless shades! You, Chaos, and you, Phlegethon, you broad, hushed tracts of night! Suffer me to tell what I have heard; suffer me of your grace to unfold secrets buried in the depths and darkness of the earth! And many monstrous forms besides of various beasts are stalled at the doors, Centaurs and double-shaped Scyllas, and he hundredfold Briareus, and the beast of Lerna, hissing horribly, and the Chimaera armed with flame, Gorgons and Harpies, and the shape of the three-bodied shade [Geryon].

Here on a sudden, in trembling terror, Aeneas grasps his sword, and turns the naked edge against their coming; and did not his wise companion warn him that these were but faint, bodiless lives, flitting under a hollow semblance of form, he would rush upon them and vainly cleave shadows with steel. Here, thick with mire and of fathomless flood, a whirlpool seethes and belches into Cocytus all its sand. A grim ferry man guards these waters and streams, terrible in his squalor — Charon, on whose chin lies a mass of unkempt hoary hair; his eyes are staring orbs of flame; his squalid garb hangs by a knot from his shoulders.

They stood, pleading to be the first ferried across, and stretched out hands in yearning for the farther shore. But the surly boatman takes now these, now those, while others he thrusts away, back from the brink. What seek the spirits? By what rule do these leave the banks, and those sweep the lurid stream with oars? All this crowd that you see is helpless and graveless; yonder ferryman is Charon; those whom the flood carries are the buried.

He may not carry them over the dreadful banks and hoarse-voiced waters until their bones have found a resting place. A hundred years they roam and flit about these shores; then only are they admitted and revisit the longed-for pools. O tell me! Is this how he keeps his promise? For by chance the helm to which I clung, steering our course, was violently torn from me, and as I fell headlong, I dragged it down with me.

By the rough seas I sear that not for myself did I feel such fear as for your ship, lest, stripped of its gear and deprived of its helmsman, it might fail amid such surging waves. Three stormy nights over the measureless seas the South Wind drove me wildly on the water; scarce on the fourth dawn, aloft on the crest of a wave, I sighted Italy.

Little by little I swam shoreward, and even now was grasping at safety, but as, weighted by dripping garb, I caught with bent fingers at the rugged cliff-spurs, the barbarous folk assailed me with the sword, in ignorance deeming me a prize. Now the wave holds me, and the winds toss me on the beach. Either case earth on me, for that you can, by seeking again the haven of Velia; or if there be a way, if your goddess-mother shows you one — for not without divine favour, I believe, are you trying to sail these great streams and the Stygian mere — give your hand to one so unhappy, and take me with you across the waves, that at last in death I may find a quiet resting place!

But hear and remember my words, to solace your hard lot; for the neighbouring people, in their cities far and wide, shall be driven by celestial portents to appease your dust, and shall build a tomb, and to the tomb pay solemn offerings; and for ever the place shall bear the name of Palinurus. This is the land of Shadows, of Sleep and drowsy Night; living bodies I may not carry in the Stygian boat. Trojan Aeneas, famous for piety and arms, descends to his father, to the lowest shades of Erebus.

At this his swelling breast subsides from its anger. No more is said; but he, marveling at the dread gift, the fateful wand so long unseen, turns his blue barge and nears the shore. Then other souls that sat on the long thwarts he routs out, and clears the gangways; at once he takes aboard giant Aeneas. The seamy craft groaned under the weight, and through its chinks took in marshy flood.

At last, across the water, he lands seer and soldier unharmed on the ugly mire and grey sedge. To him, seeing the snakes now bristling on his necks, the seer flung a morsel drowsy with honey and drugged meal.

He, opening his triple throat in ravenous hunger, catches it when thrown and, with monstrous frame relaxed, sinks to earth and stretches his bulk over all the den. The warder buried in sleep, Aeneas wins the entrance, and swiftly leaves the bank of that stream whence none return.

Near them were those on false charge condemned to die. The region thereafter is held by those sad souls who in innocence wrought their own death and, loathing the light, flung away their lives. How gladly now, in the air above, would they bear both want and harsh distress!

Fate withstands; the unlovely mere with its dreary water enchains them and Styx imprisons with his ninefold circles. Here those whom stern Love has consumed with cruel wasting are hidden in walks withdrawn, embowered in a myrtle grove; even in death the pangs leave them not.

With them goes Laodamia, and Caeneus, once a youth, now a woman, and again turned back by Fate into her form of old. Was the tale true then that came to me, that you were dead and had sought your doom with the sword? Was I, alas! By the stars I swear, by the world above, and whatever is sacred in the grave below, unwillingly, queen, I parted from your shores.

Stay your step and withdraw not from our view. Whom do you flee?


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Before I left, Weiner [one of the two editors of the OED] said he remembered how baffled he had been the first time he heard an Australian talk about the 'arvo'. Australians used the -o suffix a lot, he reflected. Arvo, smoko, garbo, journo. But not all -o words were Australian, said Simpson [the other of the two editors]: eg 'aggro' and 'cheapo'. I asked if they were familiar with the Oz usage 'acco', meaning 'academic'. They liked that.

After Linn, the channel of the Tay became more contra a night of heavy rain fate awaited us than such a Quixotic one ; and an that is what we must all.

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If our dear, supportive readers, want to ensure that I do not have to suffer the indignity of getting defeated, once again, by an "author" who is the human embodiment of Axe Body Spray on the best seller lists, then I implore you to please go ahead and send a gift copy of Why We Did It to a loved one or hated one who might benefit from the lessons therein. Noem has been bested. Hegseth is next. Plus if you missed it, you can listen to Charlie lavish praise on me on this score in Friday's podcast here. I have to admit I was savoring the experience as I imagine this level of effusiveness will not be matched anytime soon. The conservative media has used the MSM reporting to pile on the president. So they went after Biden and the media because their focus on this matter has not been strong or deranged enough for their liking. One of the chief anti-Biden media critics, Glenn Greenwald , admonished me, maintaining that the media is just now breaking free from an Iraq WMD level multi-year cover-up aimed at ensuring the public is unaware that Joe Biden is old.

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Some games give you a chance to get inside the mind of your foes to gain a strategic advantage. Warp goes one step further by letting you hop inside their bodies then shake their guts around until they bulge and explode in a nasty spray of bloody meat-gunk puree. Well, that and the F-bombs your enemies drop when you thwart their efforts to contain your pint-sized wrath. You play as an orange alien critter named Zero who is caught by humans and taken to an underwater science facility where your captors have no qualms about poking, prodding, and slicing you up for their research.

The local accent is barbed with a prairie twang, a ranch-hand nasalness, and the men, many of them, wear narrow frontier trousers, Stetsons, and high-heeled boots with pointed toes.

The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb)

His hair is crisp, and black, and long; His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.

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The Last Podcast On The Left covers all the horrors our world has to offer both imagined and real, from demons and slashers to cults and serial killers, The Last Podcast is guaranteed to satisfy your blood lust. As we conclude the tale of one of the sleaziest serial killers of Long Island's history, the boys discuss Rifkin's sinister daily routine, how his own impotence fueled a desire to kill, and the sloppy series of events that would result in him being caught red handed with a body in the bed of his truck. It's serial killer time Ben 'n' Henry bring you this week's true crime stories including a real life "Gone Girl" style killer caught in Costa Rica, chaos on a Carnival Cruise as a threesome leads to a 60 person brawl, the Australian man who died from eating a Gecko, an inanimate Hero of the Week, and MORE! Over the centuries there's been countless sightings of unknown creatures spotted all around the world Mythological Sex Beasts.

If Tom escaped the hot bed of fanaticism, || innocent blood, huddled dull day described above, Tom dreary night, was noticed by the captain and.

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See how creative they are in distinguishing themselves from their competitors using these deodorant slogans and taglines. These slogans are also helping them in impressing a certain image of their brand in the minds of their potential customers. At first, it was only about a day where people would exchange gifts and cards, but now the celebrations range from a week to three days. The chocolate day, teddy bear day, rose day, etc.

African Gender Studies

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If you're anything like me, you've whizzed through The Society on Netflix and are now deeply obsessed with all things New Ham. The sci-fi thriller revolves around a group of teenagers who find themselves mysteriously transported to a facsimile of their Connecticut town, which looks identical but contains no trace of their parents or loved ones. From there a battle of the wills breaks out among the teenagers as they struggle to establish order and make and break dangerous alliances in order to gain control of their situation. Any show that's a blend of Lord of the Flies and celebrated teen shows like and Gossip Girl is bound to stir up drama, and it definitely does.

Notice the S-Y-D in the title.

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