The Shorter Poems of John Milton: Including the Two Latin Elegies and Italian Sonnet to Diodati, and the Epitaphium Damonis

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Macmillan, 1898 - 299 páginas
 

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Página 39 - Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus...
Página 44 - Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail, To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
Página 92 - 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.
Página 28 - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Página 195 - O'er other creatures : yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best...
Página 201 - Urania, and fit audience find, though few-. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drown'd Both harp and voice ; nor could the muse defend Her son.
Página 187 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie: There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Página 27 - Where the bright seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow ; And the cherubic host, in thousand quires, Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly...
Página 73 - Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harm Shall in the happy trial prove most glory. But evil on itself shall back recoil, And mix no more with goodness, when at last, Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, - It shall be in eternal restless change Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail, The pillared firmament- is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
Página 63 - I saw them under a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i

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