The poetical works of Edward Young. Collated with the best eds.: by T. ParkStanhope Press for Sultaby, Evance and Fox, 1813 - 168 páginas |
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Página 17
... hand of Charity ! To shock us more , solicit it in vain ! Ye silken sons of Pleasure ! since in pains You rue more modish visits , visit here , And breathe from your debauch : give , and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you . But so great ...
... hand of Charity ! To shock us more , solicit it in vain ! Ye silken sons of Pleasure ! since in pains You rue more modish visits , visit here , And breathe from your debauch : give , and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you . But so great ...
Página 21
... hands is Folly's vails ; That lodg'd in Fate's to wisdom they consign ; The thing they can't but purpose , they postpone . ' Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool , And scarce in human wisdom to do more . All promise is poor dilatory man ...
... hands is Folly's vails ; That lodg'd in Fate's to wisdom they consign ; The thing they can't but purpose , they postpone . ' Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool , And scarce in human wisdom to do more . All promise is poor dilatory man ...
Página 24
... hand arrest , No composition sets the prisoner free . Eternity's inexorable chain Fast binds , and vengeance claims the full arrear . How late I shudder'd on the brink ! how late Life call'd for her last refuge in despair ! That time is ...
... hand arrest , No composition sets the prisoner free . Eternity's inexorable chain Fast binds , and vengeance claims the full arrear . How late I shudder'd on the brink ! how late Life call'd for her last refuge in despair ! That time is ...
Página 41
... 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 the soul ...
... 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 the soul ...
Página 49
... hand , Which often cropt your odours , incense meet To thought so pure ! Ye lovely fugitives ! Coëval race with man ! for man you smile ; Why not smile at him too ? You share , indeed , His sudden pass ; but not his constant pain . So ...
... hand , Which often cropt your odours , incense meet To thought so pure ! Ye lovely fugitives ! Coëval race with man ! for man you smile ; Why not smile at him too ? You share , indeed , His sudden pass ; but not his constant pain . So ...
Términos y frases comunes
ambition angels archangels art thou beam beneath bids bless'd bliss blood divine boast boundless call'd canst charms Creation dark death deep Deity delight divine dost dread dream dust earth endless eternal ethereal Ev'n fair fate flame fond fool give glorious glory gods grave grief groan guilt happiness heart Heav'n hope hour human illustrious infidels life's light live Lorenzo man's mankind midnight mighty mind mortal Narcissa Nature Nature's ne'er night nought numbers o'er Omnipotence orbs ordain'd pain passion peace Philander pleasure poison'd praise pride proud Reason Reason sleeps rise sacred scene sense shades shines sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars stings storm strange sublunary tempest thee theme thine thought throne thy disease tomb triumph truth Twill virtue Virtue's wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched ye Stars
Pasajes populares
Página 11 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
Página 22 - 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 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.
Página 10 - Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause, An awful pause ! prophetic of her end.
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.
Página 21 - As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. 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. And why? Because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal, but themselves...
Página 63 - Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in, " Here he lies," And " Dust to dust
Página 59 - Death is the crown of life : Were death denied, poor man would live in vain ; Were death denied, to live would not be life ; Were death denied, even fools would wish to die. Death wounds to cure : we fall ; we rise ; we reign ! Spring from our fetters ; fasten in the skies ; Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
Página 116 - One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine ; And light us deep into the Deity ; How boundless in magnificence and might! O what a confluence of ethereal fires, 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.
Página 16 - If so the tyrant, or his minion, doom. Want, and incurable disease, (fell pair !) On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize At once ; and make a refuge of the grave, How groaning hospitals eject their dead ! What numbers groan for sad admission there! What numbers, once in fortune's lap high-fed. Solicit the cold hand of charity ! To shock us more, solicit it in vain ! Ye...
Página 13 - And is it in the flight of threescore years To push eternity from human thought, And smother souls immortal in the dust? A soul immortal, spending all her fires, Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, Thrown into tumult, raptured, or alarm'd At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.