 | Poems |  |
MILTON.
What varied music breathes throughout thy pages!'Tis now a brook meandering along;
Then dreamy voices calling to past ages;
Anon an ocean surging deep and strong,
Then like the muttered words of thoughtful sages,
Or lisping maiden-voices, such as throng
The old green forests, warbling low and sweet,
And then a mazy dance, with merry twinkling feet.
| Poems | |