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ambition angels awful beneath bids bliss cause creation dark dead death deep Deity delight divine dread dust earth eternal ev'ry fair fall fate fear feel fire flame fond fool future give glory gods grave guilt hand happiness hear heart Heav'n hope hour human immortal kind leave less life's light live look LORENZO man's mankind mean mind mortal Nature Nature's never night o'er once pain passion past peace pleasure poor pow'r praise present pride proud reason rich rise round scene seen sense shines sight skies smile song soon soul speak sphere spirit stars strange strike sure tell thee theme thine things thou thought thousand throne triumph true truth turn virtue whole wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched
Side 40 - 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 40 - 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 31 - 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 29 - 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 33 - 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 83 - 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 27 - 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 58 - 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 257 - 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.