Prolusiones

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Strana 4 - I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : I feel my heart new opened.
Strana 14 - Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them!
Strana 6 - Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone...
Strana 24 - ARETHUSA arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains, — From cloud and from crag, With many a jag, Shepherding her bright fountains. She leapt down the rocks, With her rainbow locks Streaming among the streams; — Her steps paved with green The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams: And gliding and springing She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep; The earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep.
Strana 8 - His hand to execute what his decree Fix'd on this day \ Why do I overlive ? Why am I mock'd with death, and lengthen'd out To deathless pain \ How gladly would I meet Mortality, my sentence, and be earth Insensible ! How glad would lay me down, As in my mother's lap ! There I should rest, And sleep secure...
Strana 8 - I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee ; Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could speak had power to move thee : But I can let thee now alone, As worthy to be loved by none.
Strana 18 - O unexpected stroke, worse than of death! Must I thus leave thee, Paradise ? thus leave Thee, native soil ? these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods...

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