Les beautés poétiques d'Édouard Young, tr., avec le texte anglais, par B. Barére. Avec une notice par J. Evans

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26. oldal - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
70. oldal - Smitten friends Are angels sent on errands full of love ; For us they languish, and for us they die...
28. oldal - And that through every stage. When young, indeed, In full content we sometimes nobly rest, Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish, As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same.
328. oldal - What am I ? and from whence ? — I nothing know,. But that I am; and, since I am, conclude Something eternal: had there e'er been nought, Nought still had been: eternal there must be.
64. oldal - Life's grimace, that mistress of the scene! Here real and apparent are the same. You see the man, you see his hold on Heav'n, If sound his virtue, as Philander's sound. Heav'n waits not the last moment; owns her friends On this side death, and points them out to men ; A lecture silent, but of sovereign pow'r! To Vice confusion, and to Virtue peace.
328. oldal - I'm still quite out at sea; nor see the shore. Whence earth, and these bright orbs? Eternal too: Grant matter was eternal, still these orbs Would want some other father; — much design Is seen in all their motions, all their makes. Design implies intelligence and art; That can't be from themselves — or man : that art Man scarce can comprehend, could man bestow?
22. oldal - And is it in the flight of threescore years To push eternity from human thought, And smother souls immortal in the dust? A soul immortal, spending all her fires, Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, Thrown into tumult, raptur'd, or alarm'd At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
16. oldal - Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
80. oldal - Blest be that hand divine which gently laid My heart at rest, beneath this humble shed. The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril : Here on a single plank, thrown safe ashore, I hear the tumult of the distant throng, As that of seas remote, or dying storms, And meditate on scenes more silent still, Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death.
104. oldal - Fond as we are, and justly fond of Faith, Reason, we grant, demands our first regard; The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear. Reason the root, fair Faith is but the flower: The fading flower shall die, but Reason lives Immortal, as her Father in the skies ! When Faith is virtue, Reason makes it so. Wrong not the Christian; think not Reason yours...

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