The Poetical Works of John Milton

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Thomas Tegg, 73, Cheapside, 1842 - 767 Seiten

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Seite lxxvii - her nocturnal note. Thus with the year Seasons return ; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of eve or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; But cloud instead, and cver-during dark .Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Seite lxxxiv - And I looked, and beheld a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him : and power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with sickness, and with the beasts of the earth.
Seite 529 - harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose ; But musical as is Apollo's lute ", And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns. El. Br. List, list ; I hear Some far-off halloo break the silent air. Sec. Br. Methought so too ; what should it be ? El. Br. For certain Either some one like us
Seite 596 - Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures ', Whilst the landskip round it measures ; *• Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest ; Meadows trim with daisies pide, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide : Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in
Seite 584 - In : But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more *. Return, Alpheus ; the dread voice is past. That shrunk thy streams"; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers
Seite xcviii - Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 0, raise us up ! return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thou hadst a voice, whose sound was like the sea : Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart : Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free
Seite 620 - Forget not : in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks *. Their moans The vales redoubled to the lulls, and they To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O'er all
Seite 93 - Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on
Seite 620 - ON HIS BLINDNESS. WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide *, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning, chide ; " Doth God exact day-labour, light denied
Seite 516 - dire*, And aery tongues that syllable " men's names On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended By a strong-siding champion. Conscience.— O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith ; white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings * ; And thou.

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