The Complete Works of Henry Kirke White: With an Account of His Life

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J. H. A. Frost, 1831 - 420 Seiten
 

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Seite 342 - He bowed the heavens also, and came down; and darkness was under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and did fly: yea, He did fly upon the wings of the wind.
Seite 120 - GO, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee : How...
Seite 343 - Parts it may ravage, but preserves the whole. On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but Passion is the gale; Nor God alone in the still calm we find, .He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.
Seite 214 - The high-born soul Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing Beneath its native quarry. Tired of Earth And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 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.
Seite 138 - Oh ! I would walk A weary journey, to the farthest verge Of the big world, to kiss that good man's hand, Who, in the blaze of wisdom and of art, Preserves a lowly mind ; and to his God, Feeling the sense of his own littleness, Is as a •child in meek simplicity...
Seite 192 - Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low. So the struck eagle...
Seite 22 - It flourishes" and dies ; Will the cold Earth its silence break To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek Beneath its surface lies' ? Mute, mute is all O'er Beauty's fall ; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall.
Seite 133 - Tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies ; Behold him proudly view some pompous pile, Whose high dome swells to emulate the skies, And smile, and say, My name shall live with this Till time shall be no more...
Seite 109 - AND canst thou, Mother, for a moment think That we, thy children, when old age shall shed Its blanching honours on thy weary head, Could from our best of duties ever shrink ? Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day, To pine in solitude thy life away, Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Seite 23 - Come, Disappointment, come! Thou art not stern to me; Sad Monitress! I own thy sway, A votary sad in early day, I bend my knee to thee. From sun to sun My race will run, I only bow, and say, My God, thy will be done ! On another paper are a few lines, written probably in the freshness of his disappointment.

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