Milton's Minor Poems: L'allegro, Il Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas, Ed. for School Use by William Allan Neilson

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New York, 1900 - Всего страниц: 165
 

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Стр. 24 - 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...
Стр. 110 - O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds! That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea; He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
Стр. 62 - Or let my Lamp, at midnight hour, Be seen in some high lonely Tower, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear...
Стр. 108 - O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return ! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes, mourn : The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen...
Стр. 23 - Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven ; All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.
Стр. 112 - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 63 - And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
Стр. 113 - Through the dear might of him that walked 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.
Стр. 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.

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