This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1851 Excerpt: ...terror of man. The torrent that leaps from crag to crag, rejoicing in its strength, was not so strong as the flood of beeves that rushed through our streets. The affrighted foreigner gazed on Smithfield, and fled--Smithfield that with healthy odours regaled the nostrils of Jove--and the songsters of the day recorded ...
Read More
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1851 Excerpt: ...terror of man. The torrent that leaps from crag to crag, rejoicing in its strength, was not so strong as the flood of beeves that rushed through our streets. The affrighted foreigner gazed on Smithfield, and fled--Smithfield that with healthy odours regaled the nostrils of Jove--and the songsters of the day recorded the prowess of our oxen. But, at last, men of degenerate minds arose, and they said--Why should our wives be terrified--why should our babes be slaughtered--why should our garments be smeared with unsavoury mud?--and the songsters made their cry the subject of their songs. Then arose a loud and a heavy shout--Down with Smithfield, where the wild oxen do congregate--down with Smithfield, where the hot drover provokes the wrath of the gods by his imprecations, --down with Smithfield, the scent whereof beareth pestilence on its wings. And lo! the fall of Smithfield is decreed; and I am one of the lords of Smithfield. Thyrsis. Moderate this transport of grief, 0 bulky shepherd. Wildly rolls thine eye--down thy forehead trickle the rapid drops. Corydon. Gentle youth, my woes are past thy power of consolation. Gone are the glories of the City; her elders have become the laughingstock of the multitude. Victoria, descended from Ion, she who wieldeth the sceptre, came to our table; but the multitude laughed at our festivities. The Gaul, our ancient foe, called us to his show, and entertained us with fine spectacles; but the multitude laughed at us who went, and at him who invited. The ancient reverence is gone--care sits on the brow of Gog, some worm eats the heart of Magog--and the songster rejoices when he sings of our downfall. Thyrsis. Thanks for thy tale, 0 ill-favoured stranger. But already does the rain fall in heavy drops--already does Chloris cal..
Read Less
