The Poetical Works of John Milton: With Life

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Gall & Inglis, 1881 - 491 páginas
 

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Página 375 - Swinging slow with sullen roar; Or, if the air will not permit, Some still, removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth Save the cricket on the hearth Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Página 383 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. 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...
Página 342 - Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame; nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
Página 374 - But hail! thou Goddess sage and holy! Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Página 377 - And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
Página 4 - Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st ; thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant : what in me is dark Illumine ; what is low raise and support ; That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to man.
Página 389 - The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.
Página 219 - O unexpected stroke, worse than of death ! Must I thus leave thee, Paradise ? thus leave Thee, native soil! these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods ? where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both.
Página 6 - Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his power Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire, that were low indeed; That were an ignominy...
Página 369 - Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend ; And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the moon.

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