Without the meed of some melodious tear.

Lycidas. Line 14.

Under the opening eyelids of the morn.

Line 26.

But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone and never must return!

Line 37.

The gadding vine.

Line 40.

And strictly meditate the thankless Muse.

Line 66.

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,

Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair.

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 1
(That last infirmity of noble mind)

To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,

Line 68.

Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears
And slits the thin-spun life.

Line 70.

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.

Line 78.

It was that fatal and perfidious bark,

Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.

Line 100.

The pilot of the Galilean lake;

Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).

Line 109.

But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,

Line 130.

1 Erant quibus appetentior famæ videretur, quando etiam sapientibus cupido gloriæ novissima exuitur (Some might consider him as too fond of fame, for the desire of glory clings even to the best of men longer than any other passion) [said of Helvidius Priscus]. - TACITUS: Historia, iv. 6.

The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears.

Lycidas. Line 139

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles.

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come and trip it as ye go,

Line 168.

Line 188.

Line 193.

L'Allegro. Line 25.

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.

L'Allegro. Line 100.

Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.

Ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize.

Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,

Line 117.

Line 121.

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.

Line 129.

And ever against eating cares

Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,1

Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.

Line 135.

Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.

The gay motes that people the sunbeams.

And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.

Line 143.

Il Penseroso. Line 8.

Line 39.

Forget thyself to marble.

Line 42.

And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,

Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.

Line 45.

And add to these retired Leisure,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.

Line 49.

Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy !

1 Wisdom married to immortal verse. book vii.

I walk unseen

On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon
Riding near her highest noon,

Like one that had been led astray
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way;
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.

Il Penseroso. Line 65.

Where glowing embers through the room.
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.

Far from all resort of mirth
Save the cricket on the hearth.

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy

In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.

Line 79.

Line 81.

Line 97.

Line 105.

To something like prophetic strain.

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.

Under the shady roof

Of branching elm star-proof.

Line 173.

Arcades. Line 68.

Line 88

O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly.

Ode on the Death of a fair Infant, dying of a Cough.

Such as may make thee search the coffers round.

At a Vacation Exercise. Line 31.

No war or battle's sound
Was heard the world around.

Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 53.

Time will run back and fetch the age of gold.

Line 135.

Line 172

Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

The oracles are dumb,

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance or breathed spell

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

Line 173.

What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,

The labour of an age in piled stones?

Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid

Under a star-y-pointing pyramid ?

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,

What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?

Epitaph on Shakespeare.

And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

Ibid

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.1
Sonnet to the Nightingale

1 See Chaucer, page 6.