The Complaint; Or, Night ThoughtsS. Andrus, 1851 - 324 oldal |
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1 - 5 találat összesen 67 találatból.
13. oldal
... wise in man . I feel the solemn sound . If heard aright , It is the knell of my departed hours : Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood . It is the signal that demands dispatch : How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears ...
... wise in man . I feel the solemn sound . If heard aright , It is the knell of my departed hours : Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood . It is the signal that demands dispatch : How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears ...
22. oldal
... is conditionally wise : LORENZO ! wisdom into folly 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 36 NIGHT 1 . 22 THE COMPLAINT .
... is conditionally wise : LORENZO ! wisdom into folly 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 36 NIGHT 1 . 22 THE COMPLAINT .
23. oldal
... wise to - day ; ' 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 ...
... wise to - day ; ' 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 ...
28. oldal
... wise . What moment granted man without account ? What years are squandre'd , wisdom's debt unpaid ? Our wealth in days , all due to that discharge . Haste , haste , he lies in wait , he's at the door , Insidious death ! should his ...
... wise . What moment granted man without account ? What years are squandre'd , wisdom's debt unpaid ? Our wealth in days , all due to that discharge . Haste , haste , he lies in wait , he's at the door , Insidious death ! should his ...
30. oldal
... wise have urged ; the man Is yet unborn , who duly weighs an hour . " I've lost a day " — -the prince who nobly cried , Had been an emperor without his crown ; Of Rome ? say , rather , lord of human race : He spoke , as if deputed by ...
... wise have urged ; the man Is yet unborn , who duly weighs an hour . " I've lost a day " — -the prince who nobly cried , Had been an emperor without his crown ; Of Rome ? say , rather , lord of human race : He spoke , as if deputed by ...
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adore æther ambition angels archangels art thou beam beneath bids bless'd bliss blood divine boast boundless charms creation dæmons dark death DEITY delight divine Dost dread dream dust EARL OF LITCHFIELD earth Edward Young endless eternal fair fate fire flame fond fool gaze give glorious glory gods grave grief groan guilt happiness heart heaven hope hour human illustrious indulge infidels life's light live LORENZO man's mankind midnight mind mismeasured mortal NARCISSA nature nature's ne'er night Night Thoughts nought numbers o'er Omnipotence pain passion peace PHILANDER pleasure praise pride proud rapture reason rise sacred scene sense shines sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars stings storm strange thee theme thine thought throne thy disease tomb triumph truth virtue virtue's wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched ye stars
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24. oldal - 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. And why? because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal, but themselves; Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate Strikes thro...
24. oldal - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead; Thus on, till wisdom is pushed 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.
13. oldal - The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss ; to give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. Where are they? with the years beyond the flood...
238. oldal - Bewilder'd in the vale; in all unlike! His full reverse in all! What higher praise? What stronger demonstration of the right? The present, all their care; the future, his. When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to fame; his bounty he conceals. Their virtues varnish nature; his, exalt.
18. oldal - Led softly, by the stillness of the night, Led, like a murderer (and such it proves!) Strays (wretched rover!) o'er the pleasing past; In quest of wretchedness perversely strays; And finds all desert now ; and meets the ghosts Of my departed joys, a num'rous train!
85. oldal - Can prayer, can praise avert it ?—Thou, my all! My theme, my inspiration, and my crown ! My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth !—my world ! My light in darkness! and my life in death ! My boast through time! bliss through eternity ! Eternity, too short to speak thy praise! Or fathom thy profound of love to man ; To man of men the meanest, ev'n to me ! My sacrifice ! my God ! what things are these'!
40. oldal - From point to point, though seeming to stand still. The cunnmg .fugitive is swift by stealth ; Too subtle is. the movement to be seen ; Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone.
11. oldal - From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose, I wake : How happy they, who wake no more ! Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave. I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding thought From wave to wave of fancied misery, At random drove, her helm of reason lost.
67. oldal - ... death's tremendous blow. The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave; The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm; These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, The terrors of the living, not the dead. Imagination's fool, and error's wretch, Man makes a death which nature never made ; Then on the point of his own fancy falls, And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
293. 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.