Τι λένε οι χρήστες - Σύνταξη κριτικής
Δεν εντοπίσαμε κριτικές στις συνήθεις τοποθεσίες.
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Σελίδα 278 - The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted seat.
Σελίδα 3 - 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.
Σελίδα 30 - Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold ; Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth ; And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Σελίδα 561 - Through the dear might of him that walked the waves Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops and sweet societies That sing, and singing in their glory move And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Σελίδα 87 - And when the Sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of Pine, or monumental Oak, Where the rude Axe with heaved stroke, Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
Σελίδα 172 - And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself; But such a sacred, and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss I never heard till now.
Σελίδα 62 - With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend.
Σελίδα 269 - And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame...
Σελίδα 67 - Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ? Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams ; Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus