The Poetical Works of John Milton
Macmillan and Company, limited, 1917 - 554 Seiten
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Adam Angels appeared arms behold bound bring called Chaos copies created dark death deep delight divine Earth edition English equal eternal evil eyes fair fall Father fear fire force fruit give given glory grace hand happy hast hath head heart Heaven Hell hill hope human Italy King known leave less light live look Lord Milton mind nature night once pain Paradise Lost passed peace perhaps poem present printed published reason receive reign remains rest round Satan seemed shape side sight Sonnet soon spake Sphere Spirits stand stars stood sweet taste thee thence things thou thought throne till tree turned Universe voice whole wide wings wonder World written
Seite 459 - Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful jollity, Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles Such as hang on Hebe's cheek And love to live in dimple sleek; 30 Sport that wrinkled care derides, And laughter holding both his sides.
Seite 43 - Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair, Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
Seite 462 - 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 20 The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Seite 463 - 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. Or let my lamp, at midnight hour, Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold...
Seite 499 - Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold, — Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth ; And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. 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...
Seite 443 - THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring ; For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
Seite 9 - Memory and her siren daughters, but by devout prayer to that eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out His seraphim with the hallowed fire of His altar to touch and purify the lips of whom He pleases...
Seite 459 - And to the stack, or the barn-door Stoutly struts his dames before : Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill...
Seite 499 - 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 use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks; Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Seite 390 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.