[ عذرًا، محتوى هذه الصفحة مقيَّد ]

[ عذرًا، محتوى هذه الصفحة مقيَّد ]

...gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves. iso And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams,...brown that Sylvan loves Of pine, or monumental oak, iss Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from...

...loud, Or ushered with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves. And when the...to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring To archeil walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine or monumental oak,...

...to this point— for she lies "theCynosure of neighbouring eyen." Now, see in hig II Penseroso — " And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams,...arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, tint Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Was never heard...

...gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from oif the eaves. 130 And , when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams,...brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, 135 Where the rude ax, with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from...

...occasionally transported him " To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard,...daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt." Such are Poussin's Arcadian forest scenes of the primitive ages. We almost incontinently quote Milton,...

...pleasure is ever young, though the path is old. So — — When the sun begins to fling His Oaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, I Of pine or monumental oak, Where the rude axe with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,...

...— Something browner than Judas's. And in the following it is accorded with shade, black, &c. : — To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine or monumental oak. MILTON'S LYCIDAS. Not that our heads are, Some brown, some black, some auburn, and some bald, But that...

...the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the caves. And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams,...heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. There in close covert by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's...