The Works of the English Poets: YoungH. Hughs, 1779 |
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Страница 11
... lefs obfcure ; for thefe may man enquire . Say , thou great close of human hopes and fears ! Great key of hearts ! great finisher of fates ! 285 Great end ! and great beginning ! fay , Where art thou ? Art thou in time , or in eternity ...
... lefs obfcure ; for thefe may man enquire . Say , thou great close of human hopes and fears ! Great key of hearts ! great finisher of fates ! 285 Great end ! and great beginning ! fay , Where art thou ? Art thou in time , or in eternity ...
Страница 16
... lefs fure . Thus , an indulgent father warns his fons , 455 " Do this ; fly that " -nor always tells the caufe ; 460 Pleas'd to reward , as duty to his will , A conduct needful to their own repofe . Great God of wonders ! ( if , thy ...
... lefs fure . Thus , an indulgent father warns his fons , 455 " Do this ; fly that " -nor always tells the caufe ; 460 Pleas'd to reward , as duty to his will , A conduct needful to their own repofe . Great God of wonders ! ( if , thy ...
Страница 25
... lefs confcious being , Was e'er created folely for itfelf : Thus man his fovereign duty learns in this Material picture of benevolence . And know , of all our fupercilious race , 7100 Thou most inflammable ! Thou wasp of men ! Man's ...
... lefs confcious being , Was e'er created folely for itfelf : Thus man his fovereign duty learns in this Material picture of benevolence . And know , of all our fupercilious race , 7100 Thou most inflammable ! Thou wasp of men ! Man's ...
Страница 29
... lefs miraculous , than what His hand has form'd ? Shall mysteries descend 830 From un - myfterious ? Things more elevate , Be more familiar ? Uncreated lie More obvious than Created , to the grafp Of human thought ? The more of ...
... lefs miraculous , than what His hand has form'd ? Shall mysteries descend 830 From un - myfterious ? Things more elevate , Be more familiar ? Uncreated lie More obvious than Created , to the grafp Of human thought ? The more of ...
Страница 32
... lefs in Art . - Vain Art ! Thou pigmy power ! How doft thou swell and strut , with human pride , To fhew thy littlenefs ! What childish toys , Thy watery columns fquirted to the clouds ! Thy bafon'd rivers , and imprifon'd feas ! Thy ...
... lefs in Art . - Vain Art ! Thou pigmy power ! How doft thou swell and strut , with human pride , To fhew thy littlenefs ! What childish toys , Thy watery columns fquirted to the clouds ! Thy bafon'd rivers , and imprifon'd feas ! Thy ...
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Æther art thou beams beneath blefs blifs boaft boaſt boundleſs breaſt Britain Britain's Britannia's caufe cauſe Codrus darkneſs death defcend diftant divine dread earth eternal facred fafe fame fate fatire fcene feas feen fenfe fhall fhine fhould fing firſt fkies flain flame fleep fmile fome fong fons forrow foul fpirits ftars ftill ftreams ftrike fublime fuch fwell genius glorious glory gods golden heart heaven human immortal juſt laſt lefs Lorenzo luftre man's mankind mighty moft mortal moſt Mufe Muſe muſt nature's ne'er night numbers o'er paffion pain paſt peace Pindar pleaſure praife praiſe prefent pride profe proud raiſe reafon refign'd reigns rife ſcene ſhall ſhine ſkies ſmall ſmile ſphere ſpread ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtill ſtorm thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand throne thunder Trade virtue Voltaire whofe Whoſe wing wiſdom
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Страница 6 - By the loud trumpet summon'd to the charge, See, all the formidable sons of fire, Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, play Their various engines ; all at once disgorge Their blazing magazines ; and take, by storm, This poor terrestrial citadel of man.
Страница 4 - What is the world itself? thy world — a grave. Where is the dust that has not been alive ? The spade, the plough, disturb our ancestors. From human mould we reap our daily bread. The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes, And is the ceiling of her sleeping sons. O'er devastation we blind revels keep : Whole buried towns support the dancer's heel.
Страница 74 - Man's rich restorative ; his balmy bath, That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play The various movements of this nice machine, Which asks such frequent periods of repair. When tir'd with vain rotations of the day, Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn ; Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels, Or Death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends.
Страница 1 - Then cheers his heart with what his fate affords, And chants his sonnet to deceive the time, Till the due season calls him to repose : Thus I...
Страница 205 - If satire charms, strike faults, but spare the man : 'Tis dull to be as witty as you can. Satire recoils whenever charg'd too high ; Round your own fame the fatal splinters fly. As the soft plume gives swiftness to the dart, Good breeding sends the satire to the heart.
Страница 214 - In aweful ruin, like Rome's fenate, fall, The prey and worfhip of the wondering Gaul. No doubt, to genius fome reward is due, (Excluding that, were fatirizing you ;) But yet, believe thy undefigning friend, When truth and genius for thy choice contend, Though both have weight when in the balance caft, Let probity be firft, and parts the laft.
Страница 50 - Who bid brute matter's restive lump assume Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly ? Has matter innate motion ! Then each atom, Asserting its indisputable right To dance, would form an universe of dust.
Страница 8 - From tenfold darkness ; sudden as the spark From smitten steel; from nitrous grain, the blaze. Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more ! The day is broke, which never more shall close...
Страница 26 - From urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven, Streams to a point, and centres in my sight ! Nor tarries there ; I feel it at my heart. My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts; Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.
Страница 9 - Heaven opens in their bosoms : but how rare, Ah me ! that magnanimity, how rare ! What hero, like the man who stands himself; Who dares to meet his naked heart alone ; Who hears, intrepid, the full charge it brings, Resolv'd to silence future murmurs there ? The coward flies- and, flying, is undone. (Art thou a coward ? no :) the coward flies ; Thinks, but thinks slightly ; asks, but fears to know : Asks