Paradise Regain'd: A Poem. In Four Books. To which is Added Samson Agonistes. And Poems Upon Several Occasions. Compos'd at Several Times (Google eBook)

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Jacob Tonson, 1707 - 457 pages
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Page 194 - 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 chequer'd shade...
Page 195 - 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 189 - 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. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Page 176 - Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt. Dispraise or blame, nothing but well and fair. And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
Page 196 - 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 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 156 - Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine Draw their own ruin who attempt the deed.
Page 259 - 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 105 - Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree ? The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon When she deserts the night, Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Page 48 - Things vulgar, and, well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise ? They praise, and they admire, they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other...
Page 269 - The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; In urns and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat.

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