Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and ImmortalityB.C. Buxby, 1818 - 301 páginas |
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Página 7
... the zenith of her dark domain , 15 Is sunshine to the colour of my fate . In rayless majesty , now stretches forth Night , sable goddess ! from her ebon throne , 20 Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world . Silence THE COMPLAINT. ...
... the zenith of her dark domain , 15 Is sunshine to the colour of my fate . In rayless majesty , now stretches forth Night , sable goddess ! from her ebon throne , 20 Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world . Silence THE COMPLAINT. ...
Página 8
... Fate ! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more . Silence and Darkness ! solemn sisters ! twins 25 30 From ancient Night , who nurse the tender thought To reason , and on reason build resolve , ( That column of true majesty in man ) Assist ...
... Fate ! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more . Silence and Darkness ! solemn sisters ! twins 25 30 From ancient Night , who nurse the tender thought To reason , and on reason build resolve , ( That column of true majesty in man ) Assist ...
Página 12
... whose giddy dance Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneath . Here teems with revolutions every hour , And rarely for the better or the best , 190 More mortal than the common births of Fate . Each 12 Night I. THE COMPLAINT .
... whose giddy dance Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneath . Here teems with revolutions every hour , And rarely for the better or the best , 190 More mortal than the common births of Fate . Each 12 Night I. THE COMPLAINT .
Página 13
Edward Young. More mortal than the common births of Fate . Each moment has its sickle , emulous Of Time's enormous sithe , whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root : each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of ...
Edward Young. More mortal than the common births of Fate . Each moment has its sickle , emulous Of Time's enormous sithe , whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root : each moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of ...
Página 14
... fate ; Sweet Comfort's blasted clusters I lament ; I tremble at the blessings once so dear , And ev'ry pleasure pains me to the heart . Yet why complain ? or why complain for one ? 235 Hangs out the sun his lustre but for me , The ...
... fate ; Sweet Comfort's blasted clusters I lament ; I tremble at the blessings once so dear , And ev'ry pleasure pains me to the heart . Yet why complain ? or why complain for one ? 235 Hangs out the sun his lustre but for me , The ...
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Palavras e frases frequentes
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
Passagens conhecidas
Página 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?
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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*!
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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,...
Página 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.
Página 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.