"Helmet" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... himself could raise, driving all Troy and Lycia before him, and choking Scamander with dead, was only a magnificent exaggeration of the real hero, who, strong, fearless, accustomed to the use of weapons, guarded by a shield and helmet of the best Sidonian fabric, and whirled along by horses of Thessalian breed, struck down with his own right arm foe after foe. In all rude societies similar notions are found. There are at this ...
— Critical and Historical Essays Volume 2 • Thomas Babington Macaulay
... Sir Salar Jung, the Maharajah of Puttiala, Lord Napier of Magdala, the Maharajah of Travancore, Sir Bartle Frere, the Maharajahs of Rewah, Jeypoor, Indore, Cashmere, and Gwalior. Then came the Prince of Wales wearing a white helmet and plume, and a Field Marshal's uniform almost concealed by his sky-blue mantle. Following him was the Viceroy and the two took the chairs placed on the dais. His Excellency, as Grand Master of the Order, then went through the ceremonial of opening the Chapter and then, from out the tented field ...
— The Life of King Edward VII - with a sketch of the career of King George V • J. Castell Hopkins
... these, and thousands, thousands more, With helmet red, or golden crown, Or green tiara, rose before The youth in evening's shadows brown. He passed into the forest,—there New sights of wonder met his view, A waving Pampas green and fair All glistening with the ...
— Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan • Toru Dutt
... couch for Adonis, and across the veined sardonyx sped Artemis with her hounds. He beat out the gold into roses, and strung them together for necklace or armlet. He beat out the gold into wreaths for the conqueror's helmet, or into palmates for the Tyrian robe, or into masks for the royal dead. On the back of the silver mirror he graved Thetis borne by her Nereids, or love-sick Phaedra with her nurse, or Persephone, weary of memory, putting poppies in her hair. The potter sat in his shed, and, ...
— Intentions • Oscar Wilde
... faster? Marcellus! oh! Marcellus! He moves not—he is dead. Did he not stir his fingers? Stand wide, soldiers—wide, forty paces; give him air; bring water; halt! Gather those broad leaves, and all the rest, growing under the brushwood; unbrace his armour. Loose the helmet first—his breast rises. I fancied his eyes were fixed on me—they have rolled back again. Who presumed to touch my shoulder? This horse? It was surely the horse of Marcellus! Let no man mount him. Ha! ha! the Romans, too, sink into luxury: here is ...
— Imaginary Conversations and Poems - A Selection • Walter Savage Landor
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