The Poetical Works of John Milton: With Notes and a Life of the Author, Volumen2Hilliard, Gray, 1838 |
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Términos y frases comunes
Adam agni Amor angel atque behold Bentl bright call'd CHOR choro cloud Comus Dagon dark death deeds divine domino jam domum impasti dost doth Du Bartas Dunster dwell earth edition enemies eyes fair faith fame father fear feast foes fræna glory Hæc hand hath heard heaven holy honour igne illa ille ipse Israel jam non vacat king Lord Lycidas mihi Milton's modo mortal Newton night numbers numina nunc o'er Olympo Ovid paradise peace Philistines Poems praise PSALM quæ quam quid quoque sæpe SAMS Samson Saviour Shakesp shalt Shepherd sibi sight sing Son of God song soul spirits stood strength sweet Sylvester's Du Bartas thee thence thine things thou art thou hast thought throne tibi Todd Tu quoque ulmo Virg virtue Warton wilt words
Pasajes populares
Página 287 - Haste thee Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek ; 30 Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Página 275 - That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Página 284 - And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves...
Página 269 - Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due: For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 10 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Página 286 - HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Página 274 - Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, 'my dearest pledge ? ' Last came and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake ; Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain no (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 160 - To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own ; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day! O first created beam, and thou great Word, Let there be light, and light was over all; Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree?
Página 290 - Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid, Dancing in the chequered shade, And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday...
Página 269 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew...
Página 271 - Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. Ay me, I fondly dream ! Had ye been there...