Night Thoughts, on Life, Death, and Immortality

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Chapman & Company No. 161, FLeet Stt., 1802 - 361 páginas
 

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Página 16 - tis madness to defer; Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
Página 17 - At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Página 10 - Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ? Thy shaft flew thrice; and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn.
Página ix - In his Night Thoughts he has exhibited a very wide display of original poetry, variegated with deep reflections and striking allusions, a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue and of every odour. This is one of the few poems in which blank verse could not be changed for rhyme but with disadvantage.
Página 6 - A worm ! a god ! — I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost ! at home a stranger. Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own : How reason reels ! О what a miracle to man is man.
Página 4 - Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause ; An awful pause ! prophetic of her end.
Página 16 - Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears The palm, ' That all men are about to live, For ever on the brink of being born.' All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel : and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise ; At least, their own ; their future selves applaud How excellent that life they ne'er will lead.
Página 7 - This is the desert, this the solitude : How populous, how vital, is the grave! This is creation's melancholy vault, The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom ; The land of apparitions, empty shades ! All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond Is substance ; the reverse is folly's creed?
Página 70 - Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in, " Here he lies," And " Dust to dust
Página 262 - Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, What nothing less than angel can exceed, A man on earth devoted to the skies ; Like ships at sea, while in, above the world. With aspect mild, and elevated eye, Behold him seated on a mount serene, Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm ; All the black cares, and tumults, of this life, (Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet) Excite his pity, not impair his peace.

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