Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and ImmortalityB.C. Buxby, 1818 - 301 страница |
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Страница vi
... deep reflections and striking allusions , a wilderness of thought , in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue and of every odour . ' It must be allowed , however , that many of these fine thoughts are overcast with ...
... deep reflections and striking allusions , a wilderness of thought , in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue and of every odour . ' It must be allowed , however , that many of these fine thoughts are overcast with ...
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... deep troubles toss , Loud sorrows howl , envenom'd passions bite , Rav'nous calamities our vitals seize , And threat'ning Fate wide opens to devour . What then am I , who sorrow for myself ? 295 In age , in infancy , from others ' aid ...
... deep troubles toss , Loud sorrows howl , envenom'd passions bite , Rav'nous calamities our vitals seize , And threat'ning Fate wide opens to devour . What then am I , who sorrow for myself ? 295 In age , in infancy , from others ' aid ...
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... Deep silence , Where eternity begins . " By Nature's law , what may be , may be now ; There's no prerogative in human hours . In human hearts what bolder thought can rise Than man's presumption on to - morrow's dawn ? Where is to ...
... Deep silence , Where eternity begins . " By Nature's law , what may be , may be now ; There's no prerogative in human hours . In human hearts what bolder thought can rise Than man's presumption on to - morrow's dawn ? Where is to ...
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... deep , which nothing disembogues ! 370 And , dying , they bequeath'd thee small reno " n . The rest are on the wing : how fleet their flight ! Already has the fatal train took fire ; A moment , and the world's blown up to thee ; The sun ...
... deep , which nothing disembogues ! 370 And , dying , they bequeath'd thee small reno " n . The rest are on the wing : how fleet their flight ! Already has the fatal train took fire ; A moment , and the world's blown up to thee ; The sun ...
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... deep In midnight darkness , whisper'd my last sigh . I whisper'd what should echo through their realms : Nor writ her name , whose tomb should pierce the skies . Presumptuous fear ! how durst I dread her foes , 180 While nature's ...
... deep In midnight darkness , whisper'd my last sigh . I whisper'd what should echo through their realms : Nor writ her name , whose tomb should pierce the skies . Presumptuous fear ! how durst I dread her foes , 180 While nature's ...
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adore ambition angels archangels art thou beam beneath bids blest bliss blood divine boast boundless call'd canst charms creation dæmons dark death deep Deity delight divine dost dread dust E'en earth EDWARD YOUNG endless eternal ethereal ev'ry fair fate fire flame fond fool gaze give glorious glory gods grave grief groan guilt happiness heart heav'n 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 nought numbers o'er Omnipotence orbs pain passion peace Philander pleasure pow'r praise pride proud reason Reason sleeps rise sacred scene sense shades 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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Страница 11 - 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?
Страница 21 - 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.
Страница 9 - 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.
Страница 44 - Sweet harmonist! and beautiful as sweet! And young as beautiful! and soft as young! And gay as soft! and innocent as gay ! And happy (if aught happy here) as good ! For Fortune fond, had built her nest on high.
Страница 11 - Though sullied*, and dishonour'd', still divine*? Dim miniature' of greatness absolute*! An heir of glory/! a frail child of dust*! Helpless immortal'! insect infinite*! A worm'! a god*! — I tremble' at myself, And in myself am lost*!
Страница 9 - 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. 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.
Страница 26 - If nothing more than purpose in thy power, Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed. Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.
Страница 136 - Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm, Blows autumn, and his golden fruits away : Then melts into the spring: soft spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, Recalls the first. All, to re-flourish, fades ; As in a wheel, all sinks, to re-ascend. Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. With this minute distinction, emblems just, Nature revolves, but man advances ; both Eternal, that a circle, this a line. That gravitates, this soars. Th' aspiring soul, Ardent, and tremulous,...
Страница 21 - tis so frequent, this is stranger still. Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears The palm, That all men are about to live, For ever on the brink of being born ; All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel, and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise (At least their own), their future selves applauds.
Страница 10 - That column of true majesty in man ! — Assist me ; I will thank you in the grave ; The grave your kingdom ; there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. But what are ye ? Thou who didst put to flight Primeval Silence, when the morning stars, Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball — O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul — My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her treasure, As misers to their gold, while others rest.