The Poetical Works of John Milton: With a Memoir, and Critical Remarks on His Genius and Writings, by James Montgomery; and One Hundred and Twenty Engravings by John Thompson, S. and T. Williams, O. Smith, J. Linton, &c., from Drawings by William Harvey, Volume 2
Tilt and Bogue, 1843
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angels Arethuse arms Asmodai aught behold breast canst captive Comus Ctesiphon Dagon dark death deeds delight deliverance desert divine dost doth dread earth enemies eyes fair fame father fear feast foes Gath glorious glory gods hand hath head hear heard heaven holy honour hope hunger Israel Jephtha Jesus Judea king kingdom Lady light Locrine Lord Lycidas Manoah morn mortal mount Moses Muse Nazarite night numbers nymph o'er once PARADISE REGAINED Parthian peace Philistines praise prophet reign return'd round Sams Samson SAMSON AGONISTES Satan Saviour seek shades shame shepherd sight sing solemn Son of God song soon soul spake Spir spirits strength sung sweet tempter thee thence thine things thou thou art thou hast thou shalt thought throne thyself Timna truth vex'd virgin virtue voice wild wilderness wilt winds wings wood wouldst
Page 193 - Swinging slow with sullen roar : Or, if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Page 186 - Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow, Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine : While the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before: Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Page 217 - But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest, Time is, our tedious song should here have ending Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord, with handmaid lamp, attending ; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable.
Page 211 - With her great master so to sympathize : It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded that her maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
Page 149 - Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal : but when lust, By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, Lets in defilement to the inward parts, The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose The divine property of her first be^ ing.
Page 187 - Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses...
Page 182 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Page 181 - The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Page 177 - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Page 180 - Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd 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.