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Adam ahout ahove aneient angels appears dark death deep delight deserihed deseription divine eaeh ealled eannot earth eharaeter eome eould ereation expression eyes fair fall father fire foree give given glory hand happy hast hath head hear heart heautiful heaven heen hefore hell hest hold hook hope hoth hright human imagination invention Italy king language learning less light lines live look Lord means Milton mind morning mueh nature never night ohserves onee Paradise Lost passage perhaps person plaee poem poet poetieal poetry present reason round Satan says seems seen sentiments soon speaking spirit strength sueh suhjeet suhlime supposed taste thee things thou thought throne true verse virtue Wabton whieh whole
Side 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...
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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...
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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...
Side 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...