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art of swimming
art of swimming
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Tom says it wasn't enough; but I said nobody wouldn't ever see
the plates that Jim throwed out, because they'd fall in the dog-fennel
and jimpson weeds under the window-hole--then we could tote them back and
he could use them over again. So Tom was satisfied. Then he says:
“Now, the thing to study out is, how to get the things to Jim.”
“Take them in through the hole,” I says, “when we get it done.”
He only just looked scornful, and said something about nobody ever heard
of such an idiotic
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aid
For ploughshares, wheels, and all the rural trade."
Stern Polypoetes stepp'd before the throng,
And great Leonteus, more than mortal strong;
Whose force with rival forces to oppose,
Uprose great Ajax; up Epeus rose.
Each stood in order: first Epeus threw;
High o'er the wondering crowds the whirling circle flew.
Leonteus next a little space surpass'd;
And third, the strength of godlike Ajax cast.
O'er both their marks it flew; till fiercely flung
From Polypoetes' arm the discus sung:
Far as a swain his whirling sheephook throws,
That distant falls among the grazing cows,
So past them all the rapid circle flies:
His friends, while loud applauses shake the skies,
With force conjoin'd heave off the weighty prize.
Those, who in skilful archery contend,
He next invites the twanging bow to bend;
And twice ten axes casts amidst the round,
Ten double-edged, and ten that singly wound
The mast, which late a first-rate galley bore,
The hero fixes in the sandy shore;
To the tall top a milk-white dove they tie,
The trembling mark at which their arrows fly.
"Whose weapon strikes yon fluttering bird, shall bear
These two-edged axes, terrible in war;
The single, he whose shaft divides the cord."
He said: experienced Merion took the word;
And skilful Teucer: in the helm they threw
Their lots inscribed, and forth the latter flew.
Swift from the string the sounding arrow flies;
But flies unbless'd! No grateful sacrifice,
No firstling lambs, unheedful! didst thou vow
To Phoebus, patron of the shaft and bow.
For this, thy well-aim'd arrow turn'd aside,
Err'd from the dove, yet cut the cord that tied:
Adown the mainmast fell the parted string,
And the free bird to heaven displays her wing:
Sea, shores, and skies, with loud applause resound,
And Merion eager meditates the wound:
He takes the bow, directs the shaft above,
And following with his eye the soaring dove,
Implores the god to speed it thr