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Adam aeeording aeeount aetion ahout ahove aneient angels Comus death delight deseended deserihed deseription divine douht eaeh ealled eame eannot earth eause eelehrated effeet ehange eharaeter eharm eireumstanees eity elose eloud eome eommand eommon eompared eomposition eoneeive eonsidered eopied eould eountry ereation ereatures erities eyes faee fahle faney foree glory graee haek hast hath heast heautiful heaven heeause heen hefore heginning hehold hell henee hest hetter hetween hliss hook hoth hright hring hrought imagination introdueed king lahour liherty Lord Milton mind mueh night nohle notiee oeeasion ohjeet ohserves onee Ovid Paradise Lost Paradise Regained partieular passage peaee perfeet plaee poem poet poetieal poetry produeed prohahly reeeived respeet rieh Samson Samson Agonistes Satan says searee seeond Seripture Shakspeare sinee speeeh Spenser spirit sueh suhjeet suhlime tahle taste thee thenee things thou thought throne toueh verse Virgil voiee Wabton whenee whieh words
Page 403 - And the LORD went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way; and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light; to go by day and night...
Page 707 - 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.
Page 210 - But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers; Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
Page 124 - What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be ; all but less than He Whom thunder hath made greater >. Here at least We shall be free ; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in hell : Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
Page 174 - Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit...
Page 727 - Vesta long of yore To solitary Saturn bore; His daughter she; in Saturn's reign Such mixture was not held a stain. Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cypress lawn Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Page 710 - Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves : Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops and sweet societies, That sing, and, singing, in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page lvii - And long it was not after, when I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem ; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and honourablest things; not presuming to sing high praises of heroic men, or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy.
Page xlvi - Neither do I think it shame to covenant with any knowing reader, that for some few years yet I may go on trust with him toward the payment of what I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar...
Page 772 - With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 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...