The Works of Alexander Pope, Zväzok 4

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J. Murray, 1882
 

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Strana 225 - 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.
Strana 407 - Thus let me live, unseen, unknown. Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.
Strana 409 - Hark! they whisper; Angels say, Sister Spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Strana 318 - Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it : his mind and hand went together ; and what he thought, he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers.
Strana 407 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
Strana 204 - 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 silkworm small its slender store, And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
Strana 285 - 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.
Strana 385 - No conquest she, but o'er herself, desir'd ; No arts essay'd, but not to be admir'd. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown, Convinc'd that virtue only is our own. So unaffected, so compos'da mind, So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin'd, Heav'n, as its purest gold, by tortures try'd ; The saint sustain'd it, but the woman dy'd.
Strana 112 - Fruits of dull heat, and sooterkins of wit. Next, o'er his books his eyes began to roll, In pleasing memory of all he stole, How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug, And suck'd all o'er, like an industrious bug.
Strana 333 - No'w from all Parts the swelling Kennels flow, And bear their Trophies with them as they go: Filth of all Hues and Odours seem to tell What Street they sail'd from, by their Sight and Smell.

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