Paradise Lost: A Poem, in Twelve Books. The Author John Milton, Volume 1

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J. and R. Tonson and S. Draper, A. Ward, S. Birt, C. Hitch, B. Dod [and 5 others in London], 1746 - 378 pages
 

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User Review  - VivalaErin - LibraryThing

The shortest answer is: John Milton was a poetic genius. PL is so beautiful, you can't help but feel for Adam and Eve. Even Satan is a great character - he so wants to be an epic hero. This poem is a masterpiece, and he wrote it completely blind. Beautiful, absolutely amazing. Read full review

LibraryThing Review

User Review  - StefanY - LibraryThing

Historical significance and beautifully descriptive prose aside, I couldn't get into this book at all. Maybe it's too much familiarity with the plot or the inevitability of the impending doom of the ... Read full review

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Page 23 - Arch-Angel : but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd ; 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), condemn'd For ever now to have their lot in pain...
Page 153 - Hear, all ye angels, progeny of light, Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers ; Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall stand. This day I have begot whom I declare My only Son, and on this holy hill Him have anointed, whom ye now behold At my right hand; your head I him appoint; And by myself have sworn, to him shall bow All knees in heaven, and shall confess him Lord...
Page 105 - Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose : Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, That to the fringed bank with myrtle crown'd Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.
Page 133 - Awake: the morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove, What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, How Nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet.
Page 195 - So spake the Son, and into terror changed His countenance, too severe to be beheld, And full of wrath bent on his enemies. At once the four spread out their starry wings With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs Of his fierce chariot roll'd, as with the sound Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host.
Page 111 - O thou, for whom And from whom I was form'd, flesh of thy flesh, And without whom am to no end ; my guide And head ! what thou hast said is just and right. For we to him, indeed, all praises owe, And daily thanks ; I chiefly, who enjoy So far the happier lot, enjoying thee Pre-eminent by so much odds, while thou Like consort to thyself canst no where find.
Page 15 - God's high sufferance for the trial of man By falsities and lies the greatest part Of mankind they corrupted to forsake God their Creator, and the...
Page 100 - Short intermission bought with double smart. This knows my Punisher ; therefore as far From granting he, as I from begging, peace. All hope excluded thus, behold...
Page 105 - If true, here only, and of delicious taste : Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed ; Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose...
Page 139 - Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our Great Maker still new praise.

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