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The Poems of Ferdosi (1) Firdaws

The Poems of Ferdosi (1)

Firdaws

Published September 12th 2013
ISBN : 9781230328348
Paperback
84 pages
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 About the Book 

Este libro historico puede tener numerosos errores tipograficos y texto faltante. Los compradores pueden descargar una copia gratuita escaneada del libro original (sin errores tipograficos) desde la editorial. No indexado. No se muestra. 1788MoreEste libro historico puede tener numerosos errores tipograficos y texto faltante. Los compradores pueden descargar una copia gratuita escaneada del libro original (sin errores tipograficos) desde la editorial. No indexado. No se muestra. 1788 edition. Extracto: ... rage subside- I am no adverse foe- Ah! let not anger gainst a brother glow! On terms like these, the empire of mankind, Its stately grandeur, woud not please my mind. Shoud you to heavn spread high your towring state, Ah 1 what avails it at the hour of fate i Tis not from youth that these concessions spring, Such manly sentiments adorn a king. He spoke- but Toor replied not to the strain- Indignant passions in his bosom reign. Truth angerd more: enragd the tyrant rose, His words, his eye, with rising fury glows. The chair of state he raises in his hands, At Eritch dasiVd it- while unmovd he stands, And thus adresses: Why this slprm of rage? Does not the fear of heavn thy.breast engage? Does not the reverence that you owe our sire Awe you to shame? and check this impious ire? Why then destroy? I yield my evry powrj My blood in heavn will mark your destind hour. Act not th assassin, what can it avail? Without disguise, I speak an honest tale. You live in powr, and eminence sublime: .. Me, you woud murder! say, what cause or crime Provokes to such a deed? in secret shades Ill pass my days- where no desire pervades, Of powr or thrones- where with an humble share Of fortunes gifts, Ill breathe the vital air: As the poor ant that picks the straggling grain, And lives on little gatherd from the plain..: -., .-, The throne is thine! the sated wish is thine! War not with heavn, with yon immortal shrine. From blood, a brothers blood! what peace cab spring Why plunge in endless woe: a paretit king?. , -..j He spoke- still silent Tbor: though in his eyes, !-. Fierce rage prevails, the fame resentments rise-. . -r Toor draws his sabre- at one fatal blow-He laid...