The Poems of the Pleasures: Consisting of The Pleasures of Imagination, by Mark Akenside; The Pleasures of Memory, by Samuel Rogers; The Pleasures of Hope, by Thomas Campbell; The Pleasures of Friendship, by James M'Henry

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J.B. Lippincott & Company, 1841 - Friendship - 346 pages

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Page 120 - Refine at length, and every passion wears A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze On nature's form, where, negligent of all These lesser graces, she assumes the port Of that eternal majesty that weigh'd The world's foundations, if to these the mind Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far Will be the change, and nobler.
Page 266 - Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade. — When all the sister planets have...
Page 27 - It is this sense which furnishes the imagination with its ideas ; so that by ' the pleasures of the imagination,' or ' fancy' (which I shall use promiscuously), I here mean such as arise from visible objects, either when we have them actually in our view, or when we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings, statues, descriptions, or any the like occasion.
Page 233 - Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm. Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, Revenge or death...
Page 48 - And wisdom's mien celestial. From the first Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd, His admiration : till in time complete, What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital smile Unfolded into being. Hence the breath Of life informing each organic frame, Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves, Hence light and shade alternate ; warmth and cold ; And clear autumnal skies, and vernal showers, And all the fair variety of things.
Page 223 - Know not a trace of Nature but the form; Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued...
Page 147 - Her tattered mantle, and her hood of straw ; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er ; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred, From rifled roost at nightly revel fed ; Whose dark eyes flashed through locks of blackest shade, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bayed : — And heroes fled the Sibyl's muttered call, Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard wall.
Page 62 - Wheeling unshaken through the void immense ; And speak, O man ! does this capacious scene With half that kindling majesty dilate Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate, Amid the crowd of patriots ; and his arm Aloft extending, like eternal Jove When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, And bade the father of his country hail ? For lo ! the tyrant prostrate on the dust, And Rome again is free...
Page 52 - Through fields of air, pursues the flying storm ; Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens ; Or yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast, Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars The blue profound, and hovering round the sun, Beholds him pouring the redundant stream Of light ; beholds his unrelenting sway Bend the reluctant planets to absolve The fated rounds of time.
Page 39 - To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? Oh ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego That sacred hour...

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