L'Allegro, and Other Poems: Paradise Lost, Books I-III. With a Biographical Sketch, Introds., and NotesHoughton, Mifflin, 1896 - 208 стор. |
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40 cents Æneid ancient Angels arms battel Ben Jonson blind bliss bright burning lake call'd Chaos classic Comus dark death deep divine doth dread Earth Edmund Spenser Elder Brother English eternal eyes Faerie Queene fair farr father fire gates glory gods golden grace hast hath Hawthorne's Heav'n Heav'nly Hell highth hill Il Penseroso Imaus immortal JOHN MILTON Jove King L'Allegro Lady Latin light Longfellow's Lycidas meaning Milton mind mortal Muse night Number o're pain Paradise Lost passage peace poem poet poetic poetry Primum Mobile rais'd reign Riverside round Samson Agonistes Satan seat seem'd shades Shakespeare Shepherd shon sing song Song of Hiawatha sound spake spelling sphere Spirits stars stood story stream sweet Thammuz thee thence thir Thither thou thoughts throne verse virgin wandring warr wild wind wings word
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Сторінка 10 - 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 ; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides...
Сторінка 77 - And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Сторінка 77 - Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid, Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine...
Сторінка 86 - I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best.
Сторінка 76 - What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son Whom universal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Сторінка 3 - THE measure is English heroic verse without rime, as that of Homer in Greek, and of Virgil in Latin — rime being no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame metre...
Сторінка 12 - As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his providence Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labour must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil...
Сторінка 80 - But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said, But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Сторінка 82 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry 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...
Сторінка 80 - 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.