The Poetical Works of John Dryden

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Henry G. Bohn, 1853 - 664
 

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Strona 67 - A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. Great wits are sure to madness near allied And thin partitions do their bounds divide; Else, why should he, with wealth and honor blest, Refuse his age the needful hours of rest?
Strona 492 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain! The master saw the madness rise, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And while he heaven and earth defied Changed his hand, and checked his pride.
Strona 136 - DIM as the borrowed beams of moon and stars | To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,* ' Is reason to the soul : and as, on high, Those rolling fires discover but the sky, Not light us here ; so reason's glimmering ray Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, But guide us upward to a better day. And as those nightly tapers disappear, When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere ; So pale grows reason at religion's sight, ~ So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.
Strona 490 - In flower of youth and beauty's pride : — Happy, happy, happy pair ! None but the brave None but the brave None but the brave deserves the fair...
Strona 500 - But oh ! what art can teach, What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise ? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above.
Strona 164 - My thoughtless youth was wing'd with vain desires, My manhood, long misled by wand'ring fires, Follow'd false lights; and, when their glimpse was gone, My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. Such was I, such by nature still I am; Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame. Good life be now my task: my doubts are done (What more could fright my faith, than three in one?) Can I believe eternal God could lie Disguis'd in mortal mold and infancy?
Strona 493 - Revenge ! revenge ! Timotheus cries: See the Furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Strona 494 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down.
Strona 260 - FAREWELL, too little and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own: For sure our souls were near allied, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike.
Strona 147 - In thy felonious heart though venom lies. It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame In keen iambics, but mild anagram. Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command Some peaceful province in acrostic land, There thou mayst wings display and altars raise. And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. Or, if thou would'st thy diffrent talents suit. Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.

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