Milton's Minor Poems: L'allegro, Il Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas

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Scott, Foresman, 1900 - 165 páginas
 

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Página 60 - There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing...
Página 109 - 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?
Página 112 - For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise; Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled; Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world...
Página 54 - To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise...
Página 23 - Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arrived so near ; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits indu'th.
Página 111 - Last came, and last did go The Pilot of the Galilean lake ; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) ; He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : ' How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such, as for their bellies...
Página 112 - 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 107 - That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn ; And as he passes, turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
Página 108 - 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.
Página 111 - Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths!

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