The poetical works of Alexander Pope, 1. kötet

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W. Suttaby & B. Crosby and C. Corrall, 1807 - 408 oldal
 

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156. oldal - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
43. oldal - Hampton takes its name. Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home; Here thou, great ANNA ! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes tea. Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, To taste awhile the pleasures of a court. In various talk th...
217. oldal - And, when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer died three thousand years ago. Why did I write ? what sin to me unknown Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own ? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came...
82. oldal - True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest, who have learned to dance : 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
81. oldal - And value books, as women men, for dress : Their praise is still — the style is excellent ; The sense, they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves ; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
32. oldal - What Conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do; This teach me more than Hell to shun, That more than Heav'n pursue. What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives; T
79. oldal - A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ ; Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind ; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The generous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
374. oldal - She comes ! she comes ! the sable throne behold Of Night primeval and of Chaos old ! Before her, fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain ; As Argus
xxxvi. oldal - Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach ; from Infinite to thee, From thee to Nothing.
xxxvi. oldal - In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

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