The poetical works of Edward Young, Volume 1

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Page 1 - Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Page xliii - For letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky...
Page 17 - Youth is not rich in time, it may be poor ; Part with it as with money, sparing ; pay No moment, but in purchase of its worth ; And what its worth, ask death-beds ; they can tell.
Page 7 - 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.
Page 3 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! How passing wonder HE, who made him such...
Page 46 - For what live ever here ? — with labouring step To tread our former footsteps ? pace the round Eternal ? to climb life's worn, heavy wheel, Which draws up nothing new ? to beat and beat The beaten track ? to bid each wretched day The former mock ? to surfeit on the same, And yawn our joys ? or thank a misery For change, though sad? to see what we have seen ? Hear, till unheard, the same old slabbered tale ? To taste the tasted, and at each return Less tasteful...
Page 128 - Eternity! A glorious and a needful refuge that, From vile imprisonment in abject views. Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill.
Page 55 - 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
Page 238 - Mii.s fulminate in love to man ; Comets good omens are, when duly scann'd ; And, in their use, eclipses learn to shine. Man is responsible for ills receiv'd ; Those we call wretched are a chosen band, Compell'd to refuge in the right, for peace.
Page 266 - Retire ; — the world shut out ; — thy thoughts call home ^~ Imagination's airy wing repress ; Lock up thy senses ; — let no passion stir , — Wake all to reason ; — let her reign alone...

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