Who is he? By the marquis of ****.


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Página 235 - FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race ; Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace ; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross ; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain.
Página 249 - O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony : Where words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
Página 134 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies ? Thought would destroy their paradise! No more; — where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Página 91 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?
Página 172 - Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove, We are sure to find something blissful and dear, And that, when we're far from the lips we love, We've but to make love to the lips we are near...
Página 27 - Thou, to whom the world unknown With all its shadowy shapes is shown; Who see'st appall'd th' unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between: Ah Fear! Ah frantic Fear! I see, I see thee near. I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye! Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly, For lo what monsters in thy train appear!
Página 203 - Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try And hard Unkindness...
Página 91 - Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuff d bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart ? Doct.
Página 219 - The sobs in the dark, and the dropping of tears ; For I feel that he listens down Night's great dome When I come home, when I come home ; Home, home, when I come home, Far i
Página 240 - The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children unto the third and fourth generation...

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