The complete poetical works of John Milton, with life

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Gall & Inglis, 1855 - Bookbinding - 491 pages
 

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Page 47 - Thus with the year Seasons return ; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; But cloud instead and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair, Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
Page 335 - Gently o'er the accustomed oak; Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly Most musical, most melancholy ! Thee, chantress, oft the woods among I woo to hear thy even-song ; And missing thee, I walk unseen 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, And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Page 352 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 372 - METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the Old Law did save, And such as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind. Her face was veiled ; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So...
Page 351 - Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so ; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Page 46 - Eternal coeternal beam, May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate! Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.
Page 342 - That to the faithful herdsman'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.
Page 333 - And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus...
Page 46 - HAIL, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born! Or of the Eternal coeternal beam May I express thee unblamed? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate ! Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell? before the Sun, Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless...
Page 337 - 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 show, And every herb that sips the dew : Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, And I with thee will choose to live.

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