Miltoni Comus, Gr. reddidit Georgius, baro Lyttelton

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Сторінка 30 - Sweet echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are?
Сторінка 110 - Thus I sprinkle on thy breast Drops that from my fountain pure, I have kept of precious cure...
Сторінка 66 - With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, And the inglorious likeness of a beast Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage Character'd in the face. This have I learnt Tending my flocks hard by i...
Сторінка 10 - The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine...
Сторінка 108 - Of turkis blue, and emerald green, That in the channel strays; Whilst from off the waters fleet Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.
Сторінка 68 - At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound Rose like a steam of rich distill'd perfumes, And stole upon the air, that even Silence Was took ere she was ware, and wish'd she might Deny her nature, and be never more, Still, to be so displac'd. I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of Death...
Сторінка 56 - So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream, and solemn vision, Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear...
Сторінка 118 - And drenches with Elysian dew — List, mortals, if your ears be true ! — Beds of hyacinth and roses, Where young Adonis oft reposes, Waxing well of his deep wound, In slumber soft ; and on the ground Sadly sits the Assyrian queen.
Сторінка 18 - Who in their nightly watchful spheres Lead in swift round the months and years. The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, Now to the moon in wavering morrice move; And on the tawny sands and shelves Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
Сторінка 58 - Lets in Defilement to the inward parts, The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose The divine property of her first being. Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 470 Oft seen in charnel- vaults, and sepulchres, Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave, As loth to leave the body that it loved, And linked itself, by carnal sensuality, To a degenerate and degraded state.

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