Milton's Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity: L'allegro, Il Penseroso and LycidasUniversity Press, 1918 - 172 էջ |
Այլ խմբագրություններ - View all
Milton's Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity: L'allegro, II Penseroso ... John Milton Ամբողջությամբ դիտվող - 1924 |
Milton's Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity, L'allegro, IL Penseroso ... A. W. Verity Դիտել հնարավոր չէ - 2015 |
Common terms and phrases
Æneid allusion Apology for Smectymnuus Areopagitica Arethuse Ben Jonson Cambridge Chaucer Christ's Church Government cognate Comus Cotgrave death Dict earth Eclogues edition editors Edward King Eikonoklastes Elegy English Epitaphium Damonis epithet Essays eyes favourite flowers Giles Fletcher Glosse golden Greek Grosart Hamlet hath heaven Hist Il Penseroso imitation Italian Jonson L'Al L'Allegro Latin lines Lycidas Mark Pattison Masque Masson meaning meant metaphor Midsummer N. D. Milton Minsheu Monody morning Muse Namancos night noun Nymphs P. L. VII Paradise Lost passage pastoral Penseroso perhaps Pitt Press poem poet poetry prefix probably Promptorium quotes reading Reason of Church reference rhyme Richard III says sense Shakespeare Shepheards Cal sing Smectymnuus song Sonnet speaks Spenser spheres stanza star Sylvester Tale Tennyson thee Theocritus thou verb Vergil verse Warton winds Winter's Tale word writers written wrote
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Էջ 27 - And all their echoes, mourn. The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear When first the white-thorn blows, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.
Էջ l - Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom He pleases.
Էջ 32 - Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still Morn went out with sandals gray ; He touched the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 190 And now was dropt into the western bay ; At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
Էջ 14 - 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.
Էջ 26 - 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. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Էջ 29 - Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge, Like to that sanguine flower, inscribed with woe. Ah ! who hath reft...
Էջ 31 - 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...
Էջ 42 - And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them : and they were sore afraid.
Էջ xix - I was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem...
Էջ 22 - 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. Oft on a Plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off Curfew sound, Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar...