Paradise Lost: A Poem, in Twelve Books (Google eBook)

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L. Coffin, 1831 - 294 pages
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Page 107 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty! thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair : thyself how wondrous then, Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Page 23 - From heaven, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove Sheer o'er the crystal battlements : from morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, A summer's day ; and with the setting sun Dropt from the zenith like a falling star...
Page 4 - And mad'st it pregnant: What in me is dark, Illumine; what is low, raise and support; That to the height of this great argument I may assert Eternal Providence, 25 And justify the ways of God to men.
Page 290 - 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...
Page 107 - 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.
Page 213 - Should God create another Eve, and I Another rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart : no, no ! I feel The link of Nature draw me : flesh of flesh, Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
Page 76 - Upon himself; horror and doubt distract His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir The hell within him ; for within him hell He brings, and round about him, nor from hell One step, no more than from himself, can fly By change of place...
Page 154 - Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drown'd Both harp and voice ; nor could the Muse defend Her son.
Page 22 - Rose like an exhalation, with the sound Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, Built like a temple, where pilasters round Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid With golden architrave ; nor did there want Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven , The roof was fretted gold.
Page 76 - O thou, that, with surpassing glory crown'd, Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the god Of this new world ; at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminish'd heads ; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 0 sun ! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state 1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere...

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