Philosophical Essays: To which are Subjoined, Copious Notes, Critical and Explanatory, and a Supplementary Narrative; with an Appendix (Google eBook)

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John Conrad, 1816 - Philosophy - 279 pages
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Page 189 - Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try And hard Unkindness...
Page 130 - O thou that, with surpassing glory crown'd, Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the god Of this new world, at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminish'd heads, to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 0 sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams...
Page 198 - God with all our heart, and with all our soul, and with all our strength, and with all our mind. Q.
Page 224 - Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Page 207 - The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon: Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some show their gaily-gilded trim Quick-glancing to the sun.
Page 161 - O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. II. i Man's feeble race what ills await: Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove.
Page 62 - he lies floating many a rood' he is still a creature. His ribs, his fins, his whalebone, his blubber, the very spiracles through which he spouts a torrent of brine against his origin, and covers me all over with the spray, everything of him and about him is from the throne.
Page 220 - Yet even these bones," are to me original; I have never seen the notions in any other place, yet he that reads them here persuades himself that he has always felt them. Had Gray written often thus, it had been vain to blame and useless to praise him.
Page 221 - Muse ? Night, and all her sickly dews, Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky ; Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war.
Page 208 - To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man: And they that creep, and they that fly Shall end where they began. Alike the busy and the gay But flutter thro...

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