Paradise Lost and Regained: With the Latin and Other Poems of John Milton, Količina 4

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H. Washbourne, 1810
 

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Vsebina

Del 9
177
Del 10
187
Del 11
195
Del 12
212
Del 13
213
Del 22
361
Del 23
373
Del 24
379
Del 25
380
Del 26
395

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Priljubljeni odlomki

Stran 177 - And all their echoes, mourn. The Willows, and the Hazel Copses green, Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous Leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the Canker to the Rose, Or Taint-worm to the weanling Herds that graze, Or Frost to Flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the White-thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to Shepherd's ear.
Stran 371 - LET us with a gladsome mind Praise the Lord for he is kind ; For his mercies aye endure, Ever faithful, ever sure.
Stran 179 - Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe : Ah ! who hath reft...
Stran 265 - CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed...
Stran 103 - A little onward lend thy guiding hand To these dark steps, a little further on; For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade, There I am wont to sit, when any chance Relieves me from my task of servile toil, Daily...
Stran 185 - Hence loathed Melancholy Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born, In Stygian Cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings...
Stran 255 - O NIGHTINGALE that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Stran 269 - LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius reinspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
Stran 175 - 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.
Stran 279 - And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlightened world no more should need; He saw a greater sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.

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