On the blindness of Homer, Ossian, and Milton. The Valley of the Rye, continued. On the character and writings of Sir Thomas Browne. Critical remarks on "The judgement, a vision", a poem by Mr. Hillhouse of New York. Remarks on social worship

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1822

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Page 271 - Of nature's works, to me expung'd and ras'd, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate ; there plant eyes; all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Page 207 - thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb, which thou beholdst, But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. ^ In a few
Page 327 - 10 For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand: I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than dwell in the tents of wickedness. PSALM Ixxxiv.
Page 282 - Let there be light, and light was over all;" Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree ? The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night, Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Page 329 - ancient men who had seen the first house, when the foundation of this house was laid before their eyes, wept with a loud voice: and many shouted for joy. So that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping.*
Page 241 - man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live and is full of misery : that he cometh up and is cut down like a flower,
Page 213 - the nimble sun. Sleep is a death, O make me try, By sleeping, what it is to die; And as gently lay my head, On my grave, as now my bed. Howe'er I rest, great God, let me Awake again at least with thee. And thus assur'd, behold I
Page 282 - I, dark in light, expos'd To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong, Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave;
Page 279 - In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drown'd Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend Her son. So fail not thou, who thee implores: For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream. PL
Page 261 - plied In liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side: This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask, Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

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