The Works of the Right Honourable Joseph Addison: Poems on several occasions. Poemata. Dialogues upon the usefulness of ancient medals, especially in relation to the Latin and Greek poets. Remarks on several parts of Italy, in the years 1702, 1703

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H. G. Bohn, 1854 - 8 oldal
 

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160. oldal - TO wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart ; To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, . Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold : For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage, Commanding tears to stream thro' every age ; Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
v. oldal - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh, if sometimes thy spotless form descend, To me thy aid, thou guardian Genius, lend ! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trode before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more...
160. oldal - The hero's glory, or the virgin's love ; In pitying love, we but our weakness show, And wild ambition well deserves its woe.
27. oldal - On foreign mountains may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine! With citron groves adorn a distant soil; And the fat olive swell with floods of oil! We envy not the warmer clime that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies; Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine: 'Tis Liberty that crowns BRITANNIA'S Isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile!
210. oldal - It must be so — Plato, thou reasonest well — Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
244. oldal - Statesman, yet friend to truth ! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear ; Who broke no promise, served no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend ; Ennobled by himself, by all approved, And praised, unenvied, by the muse he loved,
208. oldal - Tis Rome requires our tears. The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, And set the nations free, Rome is no more.
149. oldal - He delivers the meanest of his precepts with a kind of grandeur; he breaks the clods and tosses the dung about with an air of gracefulness.
211. oldal - The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
23. oldal - Even the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom, And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume. Bear me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats, Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats ; Where western gales eternally reside, And all the seasons lavish all their pride ; Blossoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise, And the whole year in gay confusion lies...

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