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Absalon admiration affections appear Argalia beauty become better body breath called cause character Christian command criticism death delight desire divine earth extract eyes face fair fall fancy father fear feel fire genius give given hand happiness hath head heart heaven holy hopes human imagination interest Italy Jews kind king language leave less light live look Lord manner master means mentioned mind moral nature never night noble object observes once original passages passion perfect person play pleasure poem poet poetry present reader reason received rest says scene seems sometimes soul speak spirit strong sweet thee things thou thought tion tragedy true truth unto virtue whole writers written
Page 73 - How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Page 92 - Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our living beings ; we slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or themselves.
Page 90 - And therefore restless inquietude for the diuturnity of our memories unto present considerations, seems a vanity almost out of date, and superannuated piece of folly. We cannot hope to live so long in our names as some have done in their persons ; one face of Janus holds no proportion unto the other. It is too late to be ambitious.
Page 91 - Had they made as good provision for their names as they have done for their relics, they had not so grossly erred in the art of perpetuation.
Page 50 - Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause ; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
Page 291 - Christ. 2 Cor. iii. 18. But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory as by the Spirit of the Lord.
Page 152 - Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long; Even wondered at, because he dropt no sooner. Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years ; Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more : Till, like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
Page 91 - What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.