Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and ImmortalityB.C. Buxby, 1818 - 301 страница |
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Страница 31
... guilt , yet wound us by their flight , If folly bounds our prospect by the grave , All feeling of futurity benumb'd ; All god - like passion for eternals quench'd ; All relish of realities expired ; Renounced all correspondence with the ...
... guilt , yet wound us by their flight , If folly bounds our prospect by the grave , All feeling of futurity benumb'd ; All god - like passion for eternals quench'd ; All relish of realities expired ; Renounced all correspondence with the ...
Страница 47
... guilt ? what guilt Can equal violations of the dead ? The dead how sacred ! sacred is the dust 185 190 Of this heav'n - labour'd form , erect , divine NARCISSA . 47.
... guilt ? what guilt Can equal violations of the dead ? The dead how sacred ! sacred is the dust 185 190 Of this heav'n - labour'd form , erect , divine NARCISSA . 47.
Страница 50
... guilt . Our dying friends come o'er us , like a cloud , To damp our brainless ardours , and abate ' That glare of life which often blinds the wise . Our dying friends are pioneers , to smooth Our rugged paths to death ; to break those ...
... guilt . Our dying friends come o'er us , like a cloud , To damp our brainless ardours , and abate ' That glare of life which often blinds the wise . Our dying friends are pioneers , to smooth Our rugged paths to death ; to break those ...
Страница 54
... guilt interposes , lab'ring earth , O'ershadow'd , mourns a deep eclipse of joy ; Her joys , at brightest , pallid to that font Of full effulgent glory whence they flow . Nor is that glory distant . O Lorenzo , 420 425 430 A good man ...
... guilt interposes , lab'ring earth , O'ershadow'd , mourns a deep eclipse of joy ; Her joys , at brightest , pallid to that font Of full effulgent glory whence they flow . Nor is that glory distant . O Lorenzo , 420 425 430 A good man ...
Страница 61
... Guilt's blunder ! and the loudest laugh of Hell . O my coevals ! remnants of yourselves ! Poor human ruins tottering o'er the grave ! Shall we , shall aged men , like aged trees , Strike deeper their vile root , and closer cling , Still ...
... Guilt's blunder ! and the loudest laugh of Hell . O my coevals ! remnants of yourselves ! Poor human ruins tottering o'er the grave ! Shall we , shall aged men , like aged trees , Strike deeper their vile root , and closer cling , Still ...
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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.