Anselmo; or, The day of trial, 3–4. köide

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Page 28 - Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky ; If but a beam of sober Reason play, Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away! But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour ? These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, Pour round her path a stream of living light, And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest Where Virtue triumphs and her sons are blest I FROM 'HUMAN LIFE.
Page 113 - For wheresoe'er I turn my ravish'd eyes, Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise. Poetic fields encompass me around, And still I seem to tread on classic ground...
Page 85 - For neither man nor angel can discern Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks Invisible, except to God alone, By his permissive will, through heaven and earth: And oft, though Wisdom wake, Suspicion sleeps At Wisdom's gate, and to Simplicity Resigns her charge, while Goodness thinks no ill Where no ill seems...
Page 32 - Passions of prouder name befriend us less. Joy has her tears, and transport has her death; Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though strong, Man's heart at once inspirits and serenes; Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys; 'T is all our present state can safely bear, Health to the frame, and vigour to the mind!
Page 170 - But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers; Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
Page 132 - Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time. No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity...
Page 28 - Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, And Place and Time are subject to thy sway ! Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone ; The only pleasures we can call our own.
Page 191 - But to the gods submit th' event of things. Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes, May still grow bright, and smile with happier hours. So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains Of rushing, torrents, and descending rains, Works itself clear, and as it runs, refines, 'Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines, Reflects each flow'r that on the border grows, And a new heav'n in its fair bosom shows.

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