Examples of using "Altares" in a sentence and their english translations:
So to the palace she escorts her guest, / and calls for festal honours in the shrine.
"Ye powers inviolate, ever-burning lights! / Ye ruthless swords and altars, which I fled, / Ye sacred fillets, that adorned my head!"
So spake he and on altars, reared aright, / due victims offered, and libations meet; / a bull to Neptune and Apollo bright, / to tempest a black lamb, to Western winds a white.
Thither I drew, and strove with eager hold / a green-leaved sapling from the soil to tear, / to shade with boughs the altars, when behold / a portent, weird to see and wondrous to unfold!
"But mad with love's despair, / and stung with Furies for his spouse denied, / at length Orestes caught the wretch unware, / e'en by his father's shrine, and smote him then and there."
Three ships the South-wind catching hurls away / on hidden rocks, which (Latins from of yore / have called them "Altars") in mid ocean lay, / a huge ridge level with the tide.
Veiled at her shrines in Phrygian hood we stand, / and chief to Juno, mindful of the seer, / burnt-offerings pay, as pious rites demand.
"Say, who the people, what the clime and place, / and many a victim's blood thy hallowed shrine shall grace."
Then back, rejoicing, through the liquid air / to Paphos and her home she flies away, / where, steaming with Sabaean incense rare, / an hundred altars breathe with garlands fresh and fair.
There, mute, and, as the traitress deemed, unknown, / dreading the Danaan's vengeance, and the sword / of Trojans, wroth for Pergamus o'erthrown, / dreading the anger of her injured lord, / sat Troy's and Argos' fiend, twice hateful and abhorred.
Within a grove Andromache that day, / where Simois in fancy flowed again, / her offerings chanced at Hector's grave to pay, / a turf-built cenotaph, with altars twain, / source of her tears and sacred to the slain – / and called his shade.
"Nay, when thy vessels, ranged upon her shore, / rest from the deep, and on the beach ye light / the votive altars, and the gods adore, / veil then thy locks, with purple hood bedight, / and shroud thy visage from a foeman's sight, / lest hostile presence, 'mid the flames divine, / break in, and mar the omen and the rite."
- "But I, who walk in majesty as queen of the gods, both sister and wife of Jupiter, I am still waging wars with one tribe for all these years! And who will worship the divine spirit of Juno after this, or what suppliant will bring an offering to her altars?"
- "But I, who walk the Queen of Heaven confessed, / Jove's sister-spouse, shall I forevermore / with one poor tribe keep warring without rest? / Who then henceforth shall Juno's power adore? / Who then her fanes frequent, her deity implore?"
" 'twixt whom a feud took fire. / He, reckless of a sister's love, and blind / with lust of gold, Sychaeus unaware / slew by the altar, and with impious mind / long hid the deed, and flattering hopes and fair / devised, to cheat the lover of her care."
Saved beyond hope and glad the land is won, / and lustral rites, with blazing altars, pay / to Jove, and make the shores of Actium gay / with Ilian games, as, like our sires, we strip / and oil our sinews for the wrestler's play. / Proud, thus escaping from the foemen's grip, / past all the Argive towns, through swarming Greeks, to slip.
So when the bold and compact band I see, / "Brave hearts", I cry, "but brave, alas! in vain; / if firm your purpose holds to follow me / who dare the worst, our present plight is plain. / Troy's guardian gods have left her; altar, fane, / all is deserted, every temple bare. / The town ye aid is burning. Forward, then, / to die and mingle in the tumult's blare."
"If Heaven of such a city naught should spare, / and thou be pleased that thou and thine should share / the common wreck, that way to death is plain. / Wide stands the door; soon Pyrrhus will be there, / red with the blood of Priam; he hath slain / the son before his sire, the father in the fane."
So to his shade, with funeral rites, we rear / a mound, and altars to the dead prepare, / wreathed with dark cypress. Round them, as of yore, / pace Troy's sad matrons, with their streaming hair. / Warm milk from bowls, and holy blood we pour, / and thrice with loud farewell the peaceful shade deplore.