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Page 323 - Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.
Page 10 - 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 hallowed haunt.
Page 10 - Softly on my eyelids laid ; And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood.
Page 69 - The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Page 4 - Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets, hail ! Ye lofty pines ! ye venerable oaks ! Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep ! Delicious is your shelter to the soul, As to the hunted hart the sallying spring...
Page 252 - Many of his elegies appear to have been written in his eighteenth year, by which it appears that he had then read the Roman authors with very nice discernment. I once heard Mr Hampton, the translator of Polybius, remark, what I think is true, that Milton was the first Englishman who, after the revival of letters, wrote Latin verses with classic elegance.
Page 286 - So saying, her rash hand in evil hour Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluck'd, she eat: Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat Sighing through all her Works gave signs of woe, That all was lost.
Page 286 - Earth trembled from her entrails, as again In pangs; and Nature gave a second groan; Sky lour'd, and, muttering thunder, some sad drops Wept at completing of the mortal sin Original...
Page 216 - O how the audience Were ravish'd ! with what wonder they went thence ! When, some new day, they would not brook a line Of tedious, though well-labour'd, Catiline ; Sejanus too, was irksome : they priz'd more " Honest" lago, or the jealous Moor. And though the Fox and subtil Alchymist, Long intermitted, could not quite be mist, Though these have sham'd all th...