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Phoebus
"Phoebus" in a Sentence (14 examples)
"What does Phoebus mean?" "It's a Latin word that means sun."
This fruit, maiden, was produced and cherished by the Hours; Phoebus matured it with his beams, and Fortune has preserved it.
Thus Venus spake, and thus fair Venus' son replies: / "Nought of thy sisters have I heard or seen. / What name, O maiden, shall I give to thee, / for mortal never had thy voice or mien? / O Goddess surely, whether Nymph I see, / or Phoebus' sister."
"Who knows not Troy, th' AEneian house of fame, / the deeds and doers, and the war's renown / that fired the world? Not hearts so dull and tame / have Punic folk; not so is Phoebus known / to turn his back upon our Tyrian town."
Lo, Panthus, flying from the Grecian bands, / Panthus, the son of Othrys, Phoebus' seer, / bearing the sacred vessels in his hands, / and vanquished home-gods, to the door draws near, / his grandchild clinging to his side in fear.
King Anius here, enwreath'd with laurel spray, / the priest of Phoebus meets us on the way; / with joy at once he recognised again / his friend Anchises of an earlier day. / And joining hands in fellowship, each fain / to show a friendly heart the palace-halls we gain.
Straight rose a joyous uproar; each in turn / ask what the walls that Phoebus hath designed? / Which way to wander, whither to return?
"Ah! who listened or obeyed? / Who dreamed that Teucrians should Hesperia gain? / Yield we to Phoebus now, nor wisdom's words disdain."
"Mark then my words and in your breasts retain. / What Jove, the Sire omnipotent, of old / revealed to Phoebus, and to me again / Phoebus Apollo at his hest foretold, / I now to thee and thine, the Furies' Queen, unfold."
When thus the prophet Helenus I hail, / "Troy-born interpreter of Heaven! whose art / the signs of Phoebus' pleasure can impart; / thou know'st the tripod and the Clarian bay, / the stars, the voices of the birds, that dart / on wings with omens laden, speak and say, / (since fate and all the gods foretell a prosperous way / and point to far Italia)."
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Mor. Miſlike me not for my complexion, The ſhadowed liuerie of the burniſht ſunne, To whom I am a neighbour, and neere bred. Bring me the faireſt creature North-ward borne, Where Phœbus fire ſcarce thawes the yſicles, And let vs make inciſion for your loue, To proue whoſe blood is reddeſt, his or mine.
By Phœbus, here's a moſt neate fine ſtreete; is't not? I proteſt to thee, I am enamord of this ſtreete now, more then of halfe the ſtreetes of Rome, againe; tis ſo polite, and terſe; […]
The heaven doth not contain so many stars, So many leaves not prostrate lie in woods, When autumn’s old and Boreas sounds his wars, So many waves have not the ocean floods, As my rent mind hath torments all the night,
For she recalled the edict which decreed If in one day she did not take or kill The challenger (to this King Charles agreed), She was his captive and must do his will. Phoebus was soon to plunge his golden head Into the western sea when of her skill And strength the Maid at last began doubt, While her fatigue was putting hope to rout.[…]
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