Cow'ring low MILTON. Th' other, whose gay train With blandishment, each bird stoop'd on his Adorns him, colour'd with the florid hue wing. MILTON. Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars. MILTON. Join voices, all ye living souls! ye birds, That singing up to heaven gate ascend, MILTON. The swan with arched neck, Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet. MILTON. Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his Those lazy owls, who, perch'd near fortune's tip, praise. MILTON Sit only watchful with their heavy wings Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray, With joyous music wake the dawning day! Why sit we mute when early linnets sing, When warbling Philomel salutes the spring? Why sit we sad when Phosphor shines so clear, And lavish Nature paints the purple year? РОРЕ. Fear the just gods, and think of Sylla's fate! Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air. POPE. Ah! what avail his glossy varying dyes; gold? POPE. |