Abruptly here she stops; then turns away Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.
Revolving in his mind the stern command, He longs to fly, and loathes the charming land.
With broken words I made this brief reply: ’All of me that remains appears in sight; I live, if living be to loathe the light.
The wretched queen, pursued by cruel fate, Begins at length the light of heav’n to hate, And loathes to live.
’T is long since I, for my celestial wife Loath’d by the gods, have dragg’d a ling’ring life; Since ev’ry hour and moment I expire, Blasted from heav’n by Jove’s avenging fire.’
Again the holy fires on altars burn; And once again the rav’nous birds return, Or from the dark recesses where they lie, Or from another quarter of the sky; With filthy claws their odious meal repeat, And mix their loathsome ordures with their meat.
We spread the tables on the greensward ground; We feed with hunger, and the bowls go round; When from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry, And clatt’ring wings, the hungry Harpies fly; They snatch the meat, defiling all they find, And, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind.
The next, in place and punishment, are they Who prodigally throw their souls away; Fools, who, repining at their wretched state, And loathing anxious life, suborn’d their fate.
The living and the dead at his command Were coupled, face to face, and hand to hand, Till, chok’d with stench, in loath’d embraces tied, The ling’ring wretches pin’d away and died.
And now, resign’d to your superior might, And tir’d with fruitless toils, I loathe the fight.
Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air.
…their woolly sheep; Like him, their herds on tops of mountains keep; Like him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steep And now three moons their sharpen’d horns renew, Since thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view, I drag my loathsome days with mortal fright, And in deserted caverns lodge by night; Oft from the rocks a dreadful prospect see Of the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree: From far I hear his thund’ring voice resound, And trampling feet that shake the solid…
But now the queen, who fear’d for Turnus’ life, And loath’d the hard conditions of the strife, Held him by force; and, dying in his death, In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath: "O Turnus, I adjure thee by these tears, And whate’er price Amata’s honor bears Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope, My sickly mind’s repose, my sinking age’s prop; Since on the safety of thy life alone Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne: Refuse me not this one, this only pray’r, To waive…
There are no more uses of "loathe" in the book.
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I make New Year’s resolutions every year and then loathe myself for breaking them.