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Page 282 - Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine Lo, thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word : Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall, And universal darkness buries all.
Page 250 - To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence,' As Fancy opens the quick springs of Sense, We ply the Memory, we load the brain, Bind rebel Wit, and double chain on chain, Confine the thought, to exercise the breath; And keep them in the pale of Words till death...
Page 245 - Hibernian shore. 70 And now had Fame's posterior trumpet blown, And all the nations summon'd to the throne : The young, the old, who feel her inward sway, One instinct seizes, and transports away. None need a guide, by sure attraction led, And strong impulsive gravity of head : None want a place, for all their centre found, Hung to the goddess, and cohered around.
Page 244 - But soon, ah soon, rebellion will commence, If music meanly borrows aid from sense : Strong in new arms, lo ! giant Handel stands, Like bold Briareus, with a hundred hands ; To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes, And Jove's own thunders follow Mars's drums, Arrest him, empress ; or you sleep no more...
Page 16 - And sensible soft melancholy. "Has she no faults then, (Envy says) Sir?" Yes, she has one, I must aver; When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman's deaf, and does not hear.
Page 229 - Immortal Rich! how calm he sits at ease 'Mid snows of paper, and fierce hail of pease; And proud his Mistress' orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
Page 192 - To where Fleet-ditch with disemboguing streams Rolls the large tribute of dead dogs to Thames, The King of dykes ! than whom no sluice of mud With deeper sable blots the silver flood.
Page 257 - We only furnish what he cannot use, Or wed to what he must divorce, a muse: Full in the midst of Euclid dip at once, And petrify a genius to a dunce: Or set on metaphysic ground to prance, Show all his paces, not a step advance.
Page 174 - O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.
Page 48 - tis true — this truth you lovers know — In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens: Joy lives not here; to happier seats it flies, And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes.