Paradise Lost: In Twelve Parts. Night Thoughts on Life, Death and Immortality, to which is Added, the Force of Religion

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Phillips & Sampson, 1848
 

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Seite 90 - When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening
Seite 55 - And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Seite 288 - Henceforth, I learn that to obey is best, And love with fear the only God, to walk As in his presence, ever to observe His providence, and on him sole depend...
Seite 80 - Imbrown'd the noontide bowers : Thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view ; Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm. Others whose fruit, burnish'd with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste...
Seite 6 - Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his power Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire ; that were low indeed, That were an ignominy...
Seite 25 - HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold...
Seite 57 - He and his faithless progeny. Whose fault ? Whose but his own ? Ingrate, he had of me All he could have ; I made him just and right, Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
Seite 9 - Created hugest that swim the ocean stream: Him, haply, slumbering on the Norway foam, The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, With fixed anchor in his scaly rind Moors by his side under the lee, while night Invests the sea, and wished morn delays...
Seite 103 - Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Seite 50 - O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.

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