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Page 120 - THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King, Of wedded maid, and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring...
Page 128 - 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.
Page 129 - 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...
Page 252 - 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.
Page 254 - There went a fame in heav'n, that He ere long Intended to create, and therein plant A generation, whom His choice regard Should favour equal to the sons of heaven. Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps Our first eruption, thither or elsewhere; For this infernal pit shall never hold Celestial spirits in bondage, nor th' abyss Long under darkness cover.
Page 132 - Through the dear might of him that walked the waves Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops and sweet societies That sing, and singing in their glory move And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page 29 - By none ; and if not equal all, yet free, Equally free ; for orders and degrees Jar not with liberty, but well consist.
Page 254 - Above them all the arch-angel: but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenched; and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge : cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather, (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemned For ever now to have their lot in pain...
Page 130 - And when the Sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of Pine, or monumental Oak, Where the rude Axe with heaved stroke, Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.