The Complaint: Or, Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and ImmortalityJohnson and Warner, 1816 - 351 sider |
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Side 31
... mortal than the common births of fate . Each moment has its sickle , emulous Of time's enormous scythe , whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root ; each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of sweet domestic ...
... mortal than the common births of fate . Each moment has its sickle , emulous Of time's enormous scythe , whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root ; each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of sweet domestic ...
Side 38
... mortal , but themselves ; Themselves , when some alarming shock of fate 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 ...
... mortal , but themselves ; Themselves , when some alarming shock of fate 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 ...
Side 43
... mortal , past thy cure . Accept the will ; that dies not with my strain . For what calls thy disease , LORENZO ? not For Esculapian , but for moral aid . Thou think'st it folly to be wise too soon . Youth is not rich in time ; it may be ...
... mortal , past thy cure . Accept the will ; that dies not with my strain . For what calls thy disease , LORENZO ? not For Esculapian , but for moral aid . Thou think'st it folly to be wise too soon . Youth is not rich in time ; it may be ...
Side 61
... mortal hand : It merits a divine : Angels should paint it , angels ever there ; There , on a post of honour , and of joy . Dare I presume , then ? But PHILANDER bids ; And glory tempts , and inclination calls Yet am I struck ; as struck ...
... mortal hand : It merits a divine : Angels should paint it , angels ever there ; There , on a post of honour , and of joy . Dare I presume , then ? But PHILANDER bids ; And glory tempts , and inclination calls Yet am I struck ; as struck ...
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The Complaint: Or, Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, & Immortality Edward Young Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2018 |
Almindelige termer og sætninger
ambition angels art thou awful beam beneath bids bless'd blest bliss blood divine boast boundless call'd charms creation Dæmons dark death Deity delight deny'd divine dost dread dust Earl of Litchfield earth EDWARD YOUNG endless eternal ethereal Ev'n ev'ry fair fate flame flow'r fond fool give glorious glory gods grave grief guilt happiness heart Heav'n Henry Pelham hope hour human illustrious Infidel life's light live LORENZO lustre man's mankind midnight mind mortal NARCISSA Nature Nature's ne'er night Night Thoughts nought numbers o'er Omnipotence pain passion peace PHILANDER pleasure pow'r praise pride proud racters reason rise sacred scene sense shew shines sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars strange thee theme thine thought thro throne tomb triumph truth virtue virtue's Winchester College wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched ye stars
Populære passager
Side 38 - 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.
Side 27 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
Side 38 - Strikes through 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 : E'en with the tender tear which Nature sheds O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.
Side 29 - This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.
Side 27 - 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 ! at home a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own: how reason reels!
Side 31 - Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice ; and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
Side 81 - 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.
Side 25 - TIRED 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.
Side 56 - Teaching, we learn ; and, giving, we retain The births of intellect; when dumb, forgot. Speech ventilates our intellectual fire; Speech burnishes our mental magazine ; Brightens, for ornament ; and whets, for use.
Side 259 - Their no joys end where his full feast begins ; His joys create, theirs murder, future bliss. To triumph in existence his alone ; And his alone triumphantly to think His true existence is not yet begun. His glorious course was, yesterday, complete ; Death then was welcome ; yet life still is sweet.