LYCIDAS. I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Line 3. He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Line 68. Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise1 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; 1 Erant quibus appetentior famæ videretur, quando etiam sapientibus cupido gloriæ novissima exuitur. Tacitus, Histor. iv. 6. [Lycidas continued. Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Line 78. Built in the eclipse and rigg'd with curses dark. Line 100. The pilot of the Galilean lake. Line 109. Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd wood-bine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears. Line 139. So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed, Line 168. To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. Line 193. ARCADES. Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof. Line 88. L' ALLEGRO. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, Line 25. On the light fantastic toe. Line 31. And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Line 67. Meadows trim with daisies pied, Line 75. Herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses. To many a youth, and many a maid, Then to the spicy nut-brown ale. Tower'd cities please us then, Line 85. Line 95. Line 100. Line 117. [L' Allegro continued. Ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize. Such sights as youthful poets dream Line 121. Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, And ever, against eating cares Such as the meeting soul may pierce, Line 129. Of linked sweetness long drawn out. Line 135. Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony. Line 143. And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Line 45. And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. Line 49. Il Penseroso continued.] Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! To behold the wandering moon, Line 61. Like one that had been led astray Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Line 97. Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. Line 105. |