Edmund Spenser's Knight of the red cross; or Holiness [The faerie queene, book 1]. The antique spelling is modernized, obsolete words are displaced [&c., by W. Horton].

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John Mason, 1850 - 132 páginas

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Página 27 - As the great eye of heaven, shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place: Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace. It fortuned...
Página 7 - The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the fir that weepeth still. The willow, worn of forlorn paramours, The yew obedient to the bender's will, The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill...
Página 104 - She was a woman in her freshest age, Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare, With goodly grace and comely personage...
Página 7 - That lasie seemd in being ever last, Or wearied with bearing of her bag Of needments at his backe.
Página 10 - That from their noyance he no where can rest, But with his clownish hands their tender wings He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.
Página 6 - A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside, Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow. Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide Under a vele...
Página 95 - Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.
Página 11 - At length they chaunst to meet upon the way An aged Sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray, And by his belt his booke he hanging had; Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad, And all the way he prayed, as he went, And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.
Página 14 - And more to lull him in his slumber soft, A trickling stream, from high rock tumbling down, And ever drizzling rain upon the loft, Mixed with a murmuring wind, much like the sound Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swound: No other noise, nor people's troublous cries, As still are wont t' annoy the walled town, Might there be heard; but careless Quiet lies, Wrapt in eternal silence, far from enemies.
Página 13 - The drooping night thus creepeth on them fast ; And the sad humour, loading their eye-lids, As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast Sweet slumbering dew ; the which to sleep them bids.

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