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againſt Amor Angels arms Atque beſt bring brought Chor comes dark death deep delight doth earth enemies eſt eyes fair Father fear firſt foes give glory Gods hand hath head hear heard heart Heav'n himſelf hold holy honor hope ipſe juſt keep king Lady land laſt leſs light live look Lord mean mihi mind morn mortal moſt muſt never night once peace pow'r praiſe quæ quid reſt round Samſ Samſon ſee ſeek ſet ſhades ſhall ſhe ſhould ſit ſome ſon ſong ſoon ſoul ſtate ſtill ſtrength ſub ſuch ſweet tell thee theſe things thoſe thou thou art thought throne thyſelf tibi true truth virtue voice whoſe winds wood
Страница 198 - As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Страница 171 - The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss; So both Himself and us to glorify...
Страница 262 - 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.
Страница 190 - 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, Till the livelong daylight fail...
Страница 251 - The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
Страница 248 - 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 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
Страница 194 - But, first and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub Contemplation; And the mute Silence hist along, '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.
Страница 191 - Where throngs of knights and barons bold In weeds of peace high triumphs hold With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend.