The works of the English poets, from Chaucer to Cowper: including the series edited with prefaces, biographical and critical (Google eBook)

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J. Johnson, 1810 - English poetry
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Page 121 - How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant; And all for love, and nothing for reward: O why should Heavenly God to men have such regard ? LONDON: APPROVED SCHOOL BOOKS.
Page 121 - How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us, that succour want? How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant?
Page 52 - And, more, to lulle him in his slumber soft, A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe, And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne: No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t' annoy the walled towne, Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes, Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes.
Page 49 - That greatest Gloriana to him gave, (That greatest Glorious Queene of Faery lond) To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have, Which of all earthly thinges he most did crave : And ever as he rode his hart did earne To prove his puissance in battell brave Upon his foe, and his new force to learne, Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne.
Page 57 - And layd her stole aside. Her angels face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place : Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.
Page 415 - O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy My love with me to spy: For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought...
Page 57 - O, how can beautie maister the most strong, And simple truth subdue avenging wrong ! Whose yielded pryde and proud submission, Still dreading death, when she had marked long, Her hart gan melt in great compassion ; And drizling teares did shed for pure affection. 'The Lyon, Lord of everie beast in field.
Page 49 - Crosse he bore, The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, And dead, as living, ever him ador'd : Upon his shield the like was also scor'd, For soveraine hope which in his helpe he had.
Page 397 - Come softly swimming downe along the Lee ; Two fairer Birds I yet did never see ; The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew...
Page 171 - Right in the middest of that Paradise There stood a stately mount, on whose round top A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise...

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