The English Anthology ...
"A selection of English poetry, in a chronological series, from the beginning of the sixteenth century (or, including an extract from Chaucer, from the latter part of the fourteenth) to the present time, upon a plan hitherto unattempted, at least in this country. ... No alteration (except in apparent mistakes) has been attempted either in the language or in the orthography, as as little as possible even in the punctuation, of the edition followed ... nor has any piece been inserted which had already appeared in "A Select Collection of English Songs," published in 1783"--Advertisement
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arms beauty beſt better bloom breaſt cauſe charms coude court death delight dread dwell earth eternal face fair fall fame fate fear fell fields fight fire firſt force foul gentle give glory gods gold grace grief hand hath head hear heart heav'n hell himſelf hire hope kind king light live looks lord maid mind mortal moſt muſe muſt nature Nature's never night o'er once pain plain pleaſing praiſe quod riſe round ſaid ſaw ſcene ſee ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſome ſong ſoon ſoul ſtill ſtreams ſuch ſweet tear tender thee ther theſe things thoſe thou thought tree unto virtue voice wave whan whoſe wind worthy wounds wretched youth
Страница 127 - Muse, that on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning how the Heavens and Earth Rose out of Chaos : or, if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'd Fast by the oracle of God, I thence Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
Страница 140 - Of locusts warping on the eastern wind That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung Like night and darken'd all the land of Nile So numberless were those bad Angels seen Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell ‘Twixt upper nether and surrounding fires; Till, as a signal given, the...
Страница 137 - 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.
Страница 147 - A shout, that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. All in a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand banners rise into the air With orient colours waving ; with them rose A forest huge of spears ; and thronging helms Appeared, and serried shields in thick array, Of depth immeasurable ; anon they move In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood Of flutes and soft recorders...
Страница 190 - More mortal than the common births of fate. Each Moment has its sickle, emulous, Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root ; each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of sweet domestic comfort, and cuts down The fairest bloom of sublunary bliss.
Страница 294 - SWEET maid, if thou would'st charm my sight, And bid these arms thy neck infold ; That rosy cheek, that lily hand, • Would give thy poet more delight Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcand.
Страница 141 - God's high sufferance for the trial of man, By falsities and lies the greatest part Of mankind they corrupted to forsake God their Creator, and the invisible Glory of Him that made them to transform 370 Oft to the image of a brute, adorned With gay religions, full of pomp and gold; And devils to adore for deities : Then were they known to men by various names, And various idols through the heathen world.
Страница 131 - Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his power Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire ; that were low indeed, That were an ignominy...
Страница 156 - Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course; they on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Страница 252 - Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate, Amid the crowd of patriots ; and his arm Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, And bade the father of his country hail ? For lo ! the tyrant prostrate on the dust, And Rome again is free...