The Complaint; Or, Night Thoughts

Передня обкладинка
S. Andrus, 1851 - 324 стор.
 

Вибрані сторінки

Інші видання - Показати все

Загальні терміни та фрази

Популярні уривки

Сторінка 24 - Unanxious for ourselves; and only wish, 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; Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate Strikes thro...
Сторінка 24 - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead; Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time; Year after year it steals, till all are fled. And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
Сторінка 13 - 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? with the years beyond the flood...
Сторінка 238 - Bewilder'd in the vale; in all unlike! His full reverse in all! What higher praise? What stronger demonstration of the right? The present, all their care; the future, his. When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to fame; his bounty he conceals. Their virtues varnish nature; his, exalt.
Сторінка 18 - Led softly, by the stillness of the night, Led, like a murderer (and such it proves!) Strays (wretched rover!) o'er the pleasing past; In quest of wretchedness perversely strays; And finds all desert now ; and meets the ghosts Of my departed joys, a num'rous train!
Сторінка 85 - Can prayer, can praise avert it ?—Thou, my all! My theme, my inspiration, and my crown ! My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth !—my world ! My light in darkness! and my life in death ! My boast through time! bliss through eternity ! Eternity, too short to speak thy praise! Or fathom thy profound of love to man ; To man of men the meanest, ev'n to me ! My sacrifice ! my God ! what things are these'!
Сторінка 40 - From point to point, though seeming to stand still. The cunnmg .fugitive is swift by stealth ; Too subtle is. the movement to be seen ; Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone.
Сторінка 11 - 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. 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.
Сторінка 67 - ... death's tremendous blow. 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. Imagination's fool, and error's wretch, Man makes a death which nature never made ; Then on the point of his own fancy falls, And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
Сторінка 293 - What am I ? and from whence ? — I nothing know, But that I am; and, since I am, conclude Something eternal : had there e'er been nought, Nought still had been : eternal there must be.

Бібліографічна інформація