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Page 286 - With their grave saws in slumber lie. We, that are of purer fire, Imitate the starry quire ; Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, Lead in swift round the months and years. The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, Now to the moon in wavering morrice move ; And, on the tawny sands and shelves, Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
Page 244 - He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fesole Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Page 286 - And fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law : The world affords no law to make thee rich ; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.
Page 168 - Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, Reigns here and revels...
Page 18 - Where belly-timber above ground, Or under, was not to be found ; Unless they grazed, there's not one word Of their provision on record ; Which made some confidently write, They had no stomachs but to fight.
Page 145 - ... promises, kindly stepped in, and carried him away, to where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest ! It is during the time that we lived on this farm, that my little story is most eventful.
Page 168 - Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Page 168 - Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings on of life Inaudible as dreams!
Page 29 - All the world over," says one who has described in a few dashes the best of Swiss scenery, " the dawn of morning is beautiful, when the earth looks like a bride arrayed in orient pearls, and the sun spreads far and wide his canopy of crimson clouds, which his glory converts gradually into gold. But amid the Valaison Alps, the loveliness of morning sets language at defiance. Imagine endless wreaths of snow, crowning piny mountains, and enveloped with a rosy flush by the magic of the young light. This...