The Complaint: Or, Night ThoughtsS. Andrus and Son, 1847 - 324 |
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adore æther ambition angels archangels art thou beam beneath bids bless'd bliss blood divine boast boundless call'd charms chimæra creation dæmons dark death DEITY delight divine Dost dread dust EARL OF LITCHFIELD earth Edward Young endless eternal fair fate fire flame fond fool gaze give glorious glory gods grave grief groan guilt happiness heart heaven hope hour human illustrious indulge infidels life's light live LORENZO man's mankind midnight mind mismeasured mortal NARCISSA nature nature's ne'er night Night Thoughts nought numbers o'er Omnipotence ordain'd pain passion peace PHILANDER pleasure praise pride proud reason rise sacred scene sense shines sigh sight skies smile song soul immortal sphere stars stings strange thee theme thine thought throne thy disease tomb triumph truth virtue virtue's wing wisdom wise wish wonder wretched ye stars
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Strona 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?
Strona 23 - tis madness to defer ; Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd 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.
Strona 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.
Strona 14 - A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own. How reason reels ! Oh what a miracle to man...
Strona 24 - That lodged 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.
Strona 25 - ... immortal. All men think all men mortal but themselves ; Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate Strikes through 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 : E'en with the tender tear which Nature sheds O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.
Strona 18 - Death ! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. The sun himself by thy permission shines, And one day thou shalt pluck him from his sphere...
Strona 150 - Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm, Blows autumn, and his golden fruits away : Then melts into the spring: soft spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, Recalls the first.
Strona 16 - 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, raptur'd, 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.
Strona 69 - The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril : Here on a single plank, thrown safe ashore, I hear the tumult of the distant throng, As that of seas remote, or dying storms, And meditate on scenes more silent still, Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death.