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Page 267 - THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds ; And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave: Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
Page 319 - One part, one little part, we dimly scan Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream ; Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, If but that little part incongruous seem. Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem ; Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise. O then renounce that impious self-esteem, That aims to trace the secrets of the skies ; For thou art but of dust ; be humble, and be 'wise.
Page 171 - O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power, And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower ! Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven ! Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven ! But peace, bold thought ! be still, my bursting heart ! We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.
Page 206 - Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, To damp our brainless ardours, and abate That glare of life which often blinds the wise. Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth Our rugged pass to death ; to break those bars Of terror and abhorrence Nature throws Cross our obstructed way, and thus to make Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm.
Page 192 - It was one of those heads which Guido has often painted ; mild, pale, penetrating, free from all commonplace ideas of fat, contented ignorance looking downward upon the earth, it looked forward; but looked as if it looked at something beyond this world.
Page 79 - Is aught so fair In all the dewy landscapes of the spring, In the bright eye of Hesper, or the morn, In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair As virtuous friendship ? as the candid blush Of him who strives with fortune to be just ? The graceful tear that streams for others...
Page 196 - Here is firm footing; here is solid rock ! This can support us ; all is sea besides ; Sinks under us; bestorms, and then devours. His hand the good man fastens on the skies, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.
Page 236 - Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise !* Each stamps its image as the other flies. Each, as the various avenues of sense Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, Brightens or fades ; yet all, with magic art, Control the latent fibres of the heart.
Page 235 - Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise !* Each stamps its image as the other flies.