They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide; They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.
A death-like sleep, A gentle wafting to immortal life.
By night the Glass Of Galileo ... observes Imagin'd Land and Regions in the Moon.
A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
I fled, and cry'd out, Death; Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh'd From all her caves, and back resounded, Death.
Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced and in his volumes taught our Laws, Which others at their Bar so often wrench
Hear all ye angels, progeny of light, Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers.
And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendent world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
The never-ending flight Of future days.
How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator?
For God will deign to visit oft the dwellings of just men -- delighted, and with frequent intercourse -- thither will send his winged messengers on errants of supernal grace.
But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the Moon.
...it ought not to appear wonderful if many, both Jews and others, who lived before Christ, and many also who have lived since his time, but to whom he has never been revealed, should be saved by faith in God alone: still however, through the sole merits of Christ, inasmuch as he was given and slain from the beginning of the world, even for those to whom he was not known, provided they believed in God the Father.
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.
So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, nature within me seems In her functions weary of herself.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
Virtue could see to do what Virtue would by her own radiant light, though sun and moon where in the flat sea sunk.
One sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight, beyond the bliss of dreams.
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