The poetical works of Edward Young. Collated with the best eds.: by T. ParkStanhope Press for Sultaby, Evance and Fox, 1813 - 168 oldal |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 44 találatból.
8. oldal
... round ? Yon lamps of light , must they decay ? On Nature's self Destruction prey ? Then fame , the most immortal thing Ev'n thou canst hope , is on the wing . Shall Newton's system be admir'd When time and motion are expir'd ? Shall ...
... round ? Yon lamps of light , must they decay ? On Nature's self Destruction prey ? Then fame , the most immortal thing Ev'n thou canst hope , is on the wing . Shall Newton's system be admir'd When time and motion are expir'd ? Shall ...
14. oldal
... round and round In silken thought , which reptile Fancy spun , Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er , With soft conceit of endless comfort here , Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies ! Night - visions may befriend ...
... round and round In silken thought , which reptile Fancy spun , Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er , With soft conceit of endless comfort here , Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies ! Night - visions may befriend ...
40. oldal
... round In the rich ichor in the generous blood Of Bacchus , purple god of joyous wit , A brow solute , and ever - laughing eye . He drank long health and virtue to his friend ; His friend ! who warm'd him more , who more inspir'd ...
... round In the rich ichor in the generous blood Of Bacchus , purple god of joyous wit , A brow solute , and ever - laughing eye . He drank long health and virtue to his friend ; His friend ! who warm'd him more , who more inspir'd ...
55. oldal
... round Eternal ? to climb life's worn heavy wheel , Which draws up nothing new ? to beat , and beat , The beaten track ? to bid each wretched day The former mock ? to surfeit on the same , And yawn our joys ? or thank a misery For change ...
... round Eternal ? to climb life's worn heavy wheel , Which draws up nothing new ? to beat , and beat , The beaten track ? to bid each wretched day The former mock ? to surfeit on the same , And yawn our joys ? or thank a misery For change ...
57. oldal
... painted shrew ? Where now , Lorenzo , life's eternal round ? Have I not made my triple promise good ? Vain is the world , but only to the vain . To what compare we then this varying scene , Whose NIGHT THE THIRD . 57.
... painted shrew ? Where now , Lorenzo , life's eternal round ? Have I not made my triple promise good ? Vain is the world , but only to the vain . To what compare we then this varying scene , Whose NIGHT THE THIRD . 57.
Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
ambition angels archangels art thou beam beneath bids bless'd bliss blood divine boast boundless call'd canst charms Creation dark death deep Deity delight divine dost dread dream dust earth endless eternal ethereal Ev'n fair fate flame fond fool give glorious glory gods grave grief groan guilt happiness heart Heav'n hope hour human illustrious infidels life's light live Lorenzo man's mankind midnight mighty mind mortal Narcissa Nature Nature's ne'er night nought numbers o'er Omnipotence orbs ordain'd pain passion peace Philander pleasure poison'd praise pride proud Reason Reason sleeps rise sacred scene sense shades shines sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars stings storm strange sublunary tempest thee theme thine thought throne thy disease tomb triumph truth Twill virtue Virtue's wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched ye Stars
Népszerű szakaszok
11. oldal - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
22. oldal - Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread ; But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close ; where past the shaft no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains ; The parted wave no furrow from the keel ; So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
10. oldal - Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause, An awful pause ! prophetic of her end.
9. oldal - 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 - 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...
63. oldal - Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in, " Here he lies," And " Dust to dust
59. oldal - Death is the crown of life : Were death denied, poor man would live in vain ; Were death denied, to live would not be life ; Were death denied, even fools would wish to die. Death wounds to cure : we fall ; we rise ; we reign ! Spring from our fetters ; fasten in the skies ; Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
116. oldal - One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine ; And light us deep into the Deity ; How boundless in magnificence and might! O what a confluence of ethereal fires, From urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven, Streams to a point, and centres in my sight ! Nor tarries there ; I feel it at my heart. My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts ; Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.
16. oldal - If so the tyrant, or his minion, doom. Want, and incurable disease, (fell pair !) On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize At once ; and make a refuge of the grave, How groaning hospitals eject their dead ! What numbers groan for sad admission there! What numbers, once in fortune's lap high-fed. Solicit the cold hand of charity ! To shock us more, solicit it in vain ! Ye...
13. 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, raptured, 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.