The poetical works of Alexander Pope: with memoir, critical dissertation, and explanatory notes, Volume 2

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J. Nichol, 1856
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Page 312 - In vain, they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. 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 311 - Night primeval and of Chaos old ! Before her, fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain ; As Argus
Page 38 - To build, to plant, whatever you intend, To rear the column, or the arch to bend, To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot; In all, let Nature never be forgot.
Page 32 - Of mimic'd statesmen and their merry king. No wit to flatter left of all his store! No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.
Page 185 - If I am right, Thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay ; If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart To find that better way.
Page 31 - But clear and artless pouring through the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? Whose seats the weary traveller repose ? Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ? " The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread ! The Man of Ross...
Page 296 - For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head With all such reading as was never read: For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, Goddess, and about it: So spins the silk-worm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
Page 13 - Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to Pleasure, yet a slave to Fame: Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres : Now Conscience chills her, and now Passion burns; 65 And Atheism and Religion take their turns; A very Heathen in the carnal part, Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart.
Page 20 - She, who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, Yet has her humour most, when she obeys...
Page 15 - No thought advances, but her eddy brain Whisks it about, and down it goes again. Full sixty years the world has been her trade, The wisest fool much time has ever made. From loveless youth to unrespected age, No passion gratified except her rage.

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