John Milton's L'allegro, Il Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas

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Longmans, Green, and Company, 1895 - 181 pages

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Page 5 - 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-browed rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Page 12 - On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way; 70 And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Page 12 - Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds, or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook...
Page 11 - Less Philomel will deign a song, In her sweetest saddest plight. Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustomed oak. Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!
Page 73 - 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...
Page 8 - Sometimes, with secure delight, The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks...
Page 52 - His praise due paid: for swinish Gluttony Ne'er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast ; But with besotted, base ingratitude, Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder.
Page 69 - LYCIDAS In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637 ; and, by occasion, foretells the ruin of our corrupted Clergy, then in their height.
Page 42 - Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say, no evil thing that walks by night In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true Virginity.
Page 59 - But now my task is smoothly done ; I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the moon.

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