The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope

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Macmillan and Company, limited, 1893 - 505 Seiten
 

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Seite 44 - Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, " Sister spirit, come away ! " What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my...
Seite 196 - All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good: And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.
Seite 273 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike...
Seite 90 - How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot ; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be ! Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Seite 202 - Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen: Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Seite 75 - Form a strong line about the silver bound, And guard the wide circumference around. 'Whatever spirit, careless of his charge, His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins, Be...
Seite 55 - Some to Conceit alone their taste confine, And glitt'ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line; Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit; One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets, like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part, And hide with ornaments their want of art.
Seite 223 - What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than Hell to shun, That, more than Heaven pursue.
Seite 191 - Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. To Be, contents his natural desire, He asks no Angel's wing, no Seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Seite 196 - Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent : Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

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