The Complaint: Or, Night ThoughtsN. Hickman, 1837 - 293 oldal |
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1 - 5 találat összesen 100 találatból.
5. oldal
... turn in pleasing ; and emotions of enthu- siasm , tinctured perhaps with devotional or melancholic feeling , swell and agitate the breast . The agitations of passion subside as the objects of life acquire dictinctness , and as the sun ...
... turn in pleasing ; and emotions of enthu- siasm , tinctured perhaps with devotional or melancholic feeling , swell and agitate the breast . The agitations of passion subside as the objects of life acquire dictinctness , and as the sun ...
7. oldal
... turn in pleasing ; and emotions of enthu- siasm , tinctured perhaps with devotional or melancholic feeling , swell and agitate the breast . The agitations of passion subside as the objects of life acquire dictinctness , and as the sun ...
... turn in pleasing ; and emotions of enthu- siasm , tinctured perhaps with devotional or melancholic feeling , swell and agitate the breast . The agitations of passion subside as the objects of life acquire dictinctness , and as the sun ...
15. oldal
... turn in pleasing ; and emotions of enthu- siasm , tinctured perhaps with devotional or melancholic feeling , swell and agitate the breast . The agitations of passion subside as the objects of life acquire dictinctness , and as the sun ...
... turn in pleasing ; and emotions of enthu- siasm , tinctured perhaps with devotional or melancholic feeling , swell and agitate the breast . The agitations of passion subside as the objects of life acquire dictinctness , and as the sun ...
21. oldal
... turns Oft , the first instant its idea fair To labouring thought is born . How dim our eye ! The present moment terminates our sight ; Clouds , thick as those on doomsday , drown the next : We penetrate , we prophesy , in vain . Time is ...
... turns Oft , the first instant its idea fair To labouring thought is born . How dim our eye ! The present moment terminates our sight ; Clouds , thick as those on doomsday , drown the next : We penetrate , we prophesy , in vain . Time is ...
18. oldal
... turns , And , his guard falling , crushes him to death . Not Happiness itself makes good her name : Our very wishes give us not our wish . How distant oft the thing we dote on most , From that for which we dote , felicity ! The 18 NIGHT ...
... turns , And , his guard falling , crushes him to death . Not Happiness itself makes good her name : Our very wishes give us not our wish . How distant oft the thing we dote on most , From that for which we dote , felicity ! The 18 NIGHT ...
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Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
æther ambition angels art thou beam beneath bids bless'd bliss blood divine boast bosom call'd charms chimæra dæmons dark dead death Deity divine Dost dread dreams dust EARL OF LITCHFIELD earth Edward Young endless eternal fair fate fire flame foes fond fool give glorious glory grave grief groan guilt happiness heart heaven hope hour human illustrious indulge infidels life's light live LORENZO lustre man's mankind mortal NARCISSA nature nature's ne'er night NIGHT THOUGHTS nought numbers o'er pain passions peace PHILANDER pleasure praise pride proud rapture reason rich rise sacred sad cypress scene sense seraphs shades shines shining instruments sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars sting storm strange sublunary thee theme thine thought throne thy disease tomb triumph truth virtue virtue's wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched
Népszerű szakaszok
22. 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.
22. oldal - Un-anxious 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. And why ? Because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal, but themselves...
7. oldal - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
21. oldal - Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. Silence how dead ! and darkness how profound ! Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds ; Creation sleeps.
7. oldal - This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule ; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free...
12. oldal - Pis not in folly, not to scorn a fool; And scarce in human wisdom to do more. All promise is poor dilatory man, 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.
75. oldal - Know'st thou th' importance of a soul immortal ? Behold this midnight glory : worlds on worlds ! Amazing pomp ! redouble this amaze ; Ten thousand add ; add twice ten thousand more ; Then weigh the whole ; one soul outweighs them all ; And calls th' astonishing magnificence Of unintelligent creation, poor.
57. oldal - Can it be? Matter immortal? And shall spirit die? Above the nobler, shall less noble rise? Shall man alone, for whom all else revives, No resurrection know? Shall man alone, Imperial man ! be sown in barren ground, Less privileged than grain, on which he feeds?
9. oldal - Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. The sun himself by thy permission shines; And, one day, thou shalt pluck him from his sphere. Amid such mighty plunder, why exhaust Thy partial quiver on a mark so mean ? Why thy peculiar rancour wreak'd on me ? Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice; and thrice my peace was slain; y And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
7. oldal - A worm! a god! I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own. How reason reels! Oh what a miracle to man is man!