The Book of Pleasures

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John B. Perry, 1841 - Hope - 187 pages

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Page 11 - Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, "Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky ? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?— 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Page 176 - His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.
Page 106 - Omnipotent might send him forth In sight of mortal and immortal powers, As on a boundless theatre, to run The great career of justice ; to exalt His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; To chase each partial purpose from his breast) And through the mists of passion and of sense, And through the tossing tide of chance and pain, To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent Of nature, calls him to his high reward, Th...
Page 12 - Tis Nature pictured too severely true. With thee, sweet HOPE ! resides the heavenly light, That pours remotest rapture on the sight : Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way, That calls each slumbering passion into play. Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.
Page 42 - The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild ! And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled...
Page 41 - IN joyous youth, what soul hath never known Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own ? Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive eye Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh ? Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name...
Page 23 - Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of time, Sarmatia fell — unwept— without a crime ! Found not a generous friend — a pitying foe — Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe...
Page 23 - KOSCIUSKO fell! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there. Tumultuous Murder shook the midnight air — On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Page 74 - Tho' all, that knew him, know his face no more, His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, With that mute eloquence which passes speech.— And see, the master but returns to die! Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly ? The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth, The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth, These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave, Will firm Fidelity exult to brave. Led by what chart, transports the timid dove The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love ? Say, thro'...
Page 15 - Know not a trace of Nature but the form; Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued...

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